Catch the Wind
by arainymonday
Summary: They had talked about their families enough for Kurt to know three things. One, the Andersons do not get along. Two, the Andersons are not happy. Three, Blaine does not feel loved by them. But he had no idea it was this bad. Sequel to One Fine Day.
1. Drive

**Disclaimer:** I'm just playing in the Glee sandbox. If you recognize it from elsewhere, I don't own it.  
><strong>Ships:<strong> Klaine  
><strong>Timeline:<strong> Between "Funeral" and "New York"  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> All of Season 1 and 2  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T for sensual scenes and thematic material (emotional child abuse)

**Author's Note:** Hello, I'm Heather. I'll be your author for this story.

This is the sequel to _One Fine Day_, and you should read that story first to fully understand this one. This story is a little shorter than _One Fine Day_ because it takes place in 24 hours, as opposed to several days. Also, there is much less fluff. This is mainly an angst story dealing with the topic of emotional child abuse. More specifically, of Blaine coming to terms with the abuse and what it has done to him. This was not an easy story to write, but it was cathartic and something I've needed to do for a long time.

The title "Catch the Wind" comes from the Donovan song. If you've never heard it, there are several versions on YouTube. Whether Donovan ripped Bob Dylan's "Chimes of Freedom" with this song or not, it is beautiful and descriptive of Blaine's journey in this story.

I hope you enjoy the story. Thank you for reading and even more for reviewing.

* * *

><p><strong>CATCH THE WIND<strong>

**One**  
><strong>"Drive"<strong>

The vintage Mustang coasted down the lonely stretch of Ohio highway between Lima and Westerville with the driver's side window rolled down and the passenger side window cracked just slightly. Cows in pasture and rows of freshly tilled farmland stretched in all directions as far as the eye could see. Only the infrequent billboard and dull roar of speeding traffic interrupted the prosaic vista.

In the car, Blaine and Kurt's linked hands rested on center console between the black leather seats. They hadn't spoken in several moments. A comfortable silence filled the space between them as the wind rushed through the car. Blaine noted that Kurt looked a little flushed from the early summer heat in his blue button up and red bowtie, but Kurt would endure anything to preserve the careful styling of his hair.

"We could have taken your car," Blaine said, for the fifth time since they'd left Lima an hour ago.

"It's better if we show up in the Mustang."

Blaine cast a long, affectionate glance that prompted Kurt to flick his free fingers at the windshield, indicating that Blaine should return his attention to the road. He already steered the car left-handed and struggled a little to hold it steady at their high speed. There was no need to add another driving hazard to the list.

"I think you're very sweet to have put so much thought into it, but no one is going to notice what car we drove there."

They'd had this whole conversation three times already, so Kurt didn't bother articulating his point again. Blaine gave up and accepted it because they couldn't very well switch cars now, not when they were over halfway to Westerville and expected at noon.

"We can call this whole thing off," Blaine said, in direct contradiction of his thoughts.

Kurt shifted his gaze from the wing mirror to his boyfriend and shook his head slightly with a knowing look in his expressive blue-green eyes.

"Blaine, I want to do this. This is maybe the only day your whole family will be in one place, and they've agreed to finally meet me. It's not much of an olive branch, but I'm not going to turn it away. I know it's going to be tense, and I know part of you wants to avoid this for as long as we can, but we're ready for it."

Blaine sighed heavily and tightened his fingers around Kurt's. The heat in the car had dampened both of their palms, but they ignored the tickle of sweat and clung to each other. If they were going to walk into the lion's den, at least they would face it together.

"You're right. I know you're right. Kurt, it's going to be so much more then tense. It's going to be awful. We're standing on the tracks watching a train rushing right at us. My parents hated each other long before they divorced, and my brother has this vague contempt for anything I care about."

"I know, Blaine." Kurt reached across his body to cup Blaine's hand in both of his. "We've talked about this, and I know what I'm walking into. Or is this about something else? Are you afraid them meeting me will make things worse for you? Because if you think it will, then we can turn around right now, and I'll never push to meet them again."

Blaine's eyes darted to the left briefly before settling back on the road again out of necessity. His fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly this knuckles were white.

"I'm not going to jinx anything by asking how things could get worse, but that's kind of where we're at right now. The Andersons are so far from the Hummels we might as well come from different planets."

Kurt's hand caressed Blaine's softly. He lifted his boyfriend's hand and kissed at the soft skin on the back of his hand. A sorrowful smile tugged at the corner of Blaine's mouth at the featherlight kisses. When Kurt had kissed the flesh to his content, he rested Blaine's hand in his lap still clasped in both of his own.

"I can't promise everything will work out, Blaine, but I'll try to make this go as smoothly as I can. We're showing up in the car you rebuilt together. There will be no outrageous conversations about _Vogue_ covers or favorite fashion designers. Look, I even dressed down for lunch."

Kurt's lips stretched into a grin, but it didn't reach his eyes. Blaine's head fell against the headrest, and he blinked away the moisture pooling in his eyes and clouding his vision. He hated that his father's insidious homophobic tendencies had clawed their way into Kurt's consciousness.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt," he whispered with a sob in his throat.

"Stop it, Blaine. I can tone it down for an afternoon without irreparably harming my lady fabulous reputation."

"You shouldn't have to."

"No, I shouldn't. But I did it anyway because walking into lunch dressed in my more fashionable outfits would put your dad on the defensive right away. I can flaunt later; today is about impressing him. I have a feeling things beyond my control are going to be offensive enough to him."

"Your voice is beautiful, Kurt."

Kurt preened for a moment under the praise. "You never told me where we're having lunch, just that your parents were still fighting over the restaurant this morning."

Blaine realized that Kurt had changed the topic deftly from the epic tragedy they were walking into and replaced it with something more benign. He let it go because wallowing in angst wouldn't make Kurt's first meeting with the Anderson family any easier.

It wasn't fair to Kurt. Meeting his boyfriend's family for the first time was nerve-wracking enough without adding on all the Anderson baggage. Judging by how frequently Kurt's tongue peeked out to wet his lips, he was incredibly apprehensive about this lunch. But he held himself together gracefully under pressure. That too was unfair. He had too much practice compartmentalizing his feelings just to walk into school and face his bullies every day.

"They eventually agreed to the country club. I think my dad wants to show off his membership to my mom, and my mom wants to find some way to let slip to his country club friends that he's not _that_ wealthy or important in the community."

"I've never been a country club before. It's so bourgeois."

Blaine gave a mirthless laugh. "That it certainly is. You've never seen a group of people as whitewashed as this crowd. I stand out like a sore thumb, and my mom is _Italian_."

Kurt smiled a little at that.

"Should I have told you sooner? Do you have the right clothes? I think you look fantastic, and you'll turn heads in the best way. But I'm the guy who thought the red Dalton vest looked good under the blazer."

Kurt made a sound in his throat like a coo. "Thank you. And you're very sweet to consider my dress sense. I'm a little overdressed for a country club, but not hideously so. Luckily, I have a change of clothes that will work better if we decide to stay after lunch."

He jerked his head backwards to indicate the duffle bag in the backseat containing Kurt's workout clothes for dance rehearsal with New Directions earlier in the day. Only Kurt would wear something other than sweats and a t-shirt to dance practice.

"How did it go?"

"Honestly, I don't see why we even need to have practice on a Saturday. Or at all."

"You have Nationals next week, Kurt."

"And no songs written. The plan is to write them in our hotel room the day before the competition." Blaine started. "I know, right? I have no idea what's wrong with my glee club."

They didn't talk about the Andersons or the country club or the impending lunch for the rest of the drive to Westerville. Kurt had had enough of the drama in New Directions and needed to vent for a few minutes. Blaine had accepted his role as sounding board ever since Kurt returned to McKinley. It made him happy that Kurt could confide in him so easily, and it reassured him that Blaine was as important to him as his friends.

As much as Blaine wished they could drive forever, holding hands and talking about everything and nothing, they eventually reached their exit, and too soon after, the private access road leading to the country club.

The narrow lane wended through a wooded area and around a golf course dotted with carts and clusters of golfers. A family sat for a picnic around the duck pond. Blaine flipped on the turn signal one-handed and steered the car into the parking lot in front of the clubhouse. He parked between an Audi and Lexus.

"Last chance to change your mind."

Kurt stood his head, cranked up the window, and opened the passenger door. Blaine was forced to release his hand, and the loss felt like a stab to his heart. Being in Kurt's presence, but unable to touch him, to assure himself this exquisite boy was real and his, hurt so badly he couldn't stand it sometimes.

But they were in Ohio, at a hotbed of conservatism, about to have lunch with a man who hated the way his son had been born. There would be no more hand holding or kisses until they left the country club.

"How do I look?" Kurt asked, fussing over some imaginary wrinkles in his pants. "Ugh. I must be a complete mess. I've been sitting for two hour plastered to that seat. I need to find a bathroom before we meet your parents."

"Hey," Blaine said gently. He came around the car to stand next to Kurt. "Hey, you look handsome just like you always do."

"Handsome?" Kurt asked. His voice had taken a high, breathy quality. "No one has ever called me handsome before. Adorable, cute … even beautiful." He batted his lashes at Blaine, and a blush crept into his cheeks. "Handsome. It's such a masculine word, and I'm – "

"A man. You're a man, Kurt."

Blaine wanted to lean over and kiss him, but he didn't. He couldn't. Not in this place where so many eyes, including his father's, could be watching. He nodded towards the clubhouse, asking silently if Kurt was ready. He took a breath and nodded once.

The attendant at the desk had Blaine sign in, and they crossed the marble-and-limestone lobby into the member's only area shielded from prying eyes by a long corridor. As they walked, Blaine pointed out the direction of various amenities he rarely used himself: the pool, the gym, the spa, the exit to the tennis courts and golf course.

"The restaurant is right here."

"Blaine," Kurt hissed, tugging on his sleeve. "Bathroom first."

Blaine motioned to the men's restroom, and they went in together. While Blaine actually used the facilities after the two hour drive from Lima, Kurt only wanted to make minor corrections to his already immaculate appearance. He leaned in close to the mirror, teasing strands of hair and adjusting the way his shirt laid on his shoulders.

"Any concerns about my appearance?" Blaine asked, drying his hands and throwing the paper into the trashcan.

Kurt's eyes raked over Blaine's hair, face, and body before he aligned the buttons of his shirt with his belt buckle and the angle of his suspenders. Kurt kept his hands on the suspenders and very gently tugged Blaine against his body. He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Blaine's lips.

Every sensible part of the shorter boy's brain told him to end the kiss because the door could swing open at any moment, and two boys kissing in a bathroom in a country club would point to all the wrong conclusions and give the bigots something more to cluck their tongues over. But the larger part of Blaine never wanted to stop kissing Kurt. The warmth of his full lips and teasing wetness of his tongue against Blaine's top lip felt absolutely right. He sighed into the kiss and relaxed against Kurt's body.

"Better not get carried away," Kurt said, pulling back too soon. He rested his forehead against Blaine's and played with the suspenders. "I would be mortified to meet your parents for the first time with kiss-bruised lips."

Blaine reluctantly agreed, although he hated to. How many times had Burt walked in on the kissing boyfriends? And all he'd ever had to say about it was "you matter." Blaine's parents would say no such thing. He knew they wouldn't because Burt was the first adult to ever say it to him. His imagination supplied the admonitions and insults they would receive from his parents.

"We'd better go in for lunch. It's almost noon."

Blaine threw caution to the wind and kissed Kurt soundly once before opening the door. The other boy looked a little dazed by the emotion Blaine poured into the kiss.

"Kurt. I don't want to be a pessimist, but I know my parents and my brother. I just can't see this being a pleasant meal. Maybe, if we're very lucky, it will be civil. I want you to know that whatever happens in there today, whatever they say or do, nothing will change the way I feel for you. I hope – I hope it won't change the way you feel about me either, bu – "

Kurt crashed his lips against Blaine's so fiercely the impact caused Blaine to stumble backwards. He ended up trapped between Kurt and cool tile wall while his boyfriend kissed him senseless.

"I'll never say good-bye to you means _I'll never say good-bye to you_."

Blaine blinked against the emotion welling in his eyes. He wanted to stay like this with Kurt, but a few moments later, they were standing in front of the hostess station in the restaurant and Blaine was giving his name. Then they were walking through the restaurant full of square tables covered in white linens and full of country clubbers. Far too soon, they were standing at a table with five place settings and peering down at the Andersons.

Blaine sucked in a breath.

"Mom, Dad, Alec … this is my boyfriend, Kurt."


	2. Gale

**Author's Note: **It has been brought to my attention that my warning about "emotional child abuse" may not be understood completely and that emotional abuse is often misunderstood and considered "less bad" than other kinds because its effect is not visual.

Emotional abuse (also called psychological abuse) is defined this way: "occurs when one person controls information available to another person so as to manipulate that person's sense of reality; contains strong emotionally manipulative content designed to force the victim to comply with the abuser's wishes; designed to cause emotional pain to victims or to "mess with their heads" in attempts to gain compliance and counter any resistance."

A psychological abuser is like the "smart bad guy": Hannibal Lector (Silence of the Lambs), Ben Linus (Lost), The White Witch (Chronicles of Narnia), Lucifer (Supernatural). Sometimes they're subtle, sometimes they're obvious, but they always cause considerable damage as they do whatever it takes to feel in control.

* * *

><p><strong>Two<strong>  
>"<strong>Gale"<strong>

Kurt waited with bated breath for one of the Andersons to respond to the introduction in some way, to smile or stand or extend a hand, but the three people at the table only blinked up at him with varying degrees of curiosity.

Blaine's mother, Lydia Adams, regarded him with nonchalance, as one would gaze up at a waiter. She looked very much like Blaine with a head of thick, curly black hair and olive skin, save for the blank look in her black eyes. Blaine's brother, Alec, wore a look of vague interest for a moment before turning back to the menu. He was a carbon copy of Blaine, except he wore his curly hair longer and dressed like an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. Blaine's father, John, glared at Kurt with contempt in his hard, hazel eyes, but a placid expression on his face.

At last, Blaine motioned Kurt into a chair next to Lydia. He sat next to John, a physical barrier between his father and boyfriend. No one initiated conversation for several moments. John and Lydia exchanged dark looks across the table, though Kurt had the impression they'd been doing that before his arrival. Alec, caught in the middle, kept his head ducked and face in the menu. Kurt searched for some topic to mention, but feared starting the wrong way and ruining lunch before it began. He opened the menu when Blaine did and scanned the lists of items.

The waiter saved them five tense minutes later. Kurt heard the Andersons' voices for the first time while they ordered their meals. The singer in him classified them by singing parts. John and Alec had baritone registers; Lydia was a contralto with a rasp in her voice that could have been sultry if she'd put any feeling into her words. Rather unexpectedly, Kurt's countertenor – so much higher than usual from nerves – startled Blaine's family.

"So you're a soprano," John stated, once the waiter had gone.

"Yes. But there's some controversy over what to call males with my vocal range. I like the term countertenor since soprano is a woman's part."

It wasn't until the words left Kurt's mouth that he realized Blaine's father already knew that. His academic research as a history professor focused on the choirs of Renaissance Venice. He knew perfectly the correct designation for all singing parts. Kurt's cheeks flushed, and his jaw tightened. Beside him, Blaine's breathing quickened.

"So what is your vocal range?" John asked, as if he had not just insulted Kurt's masculinity.

Kurt would be damned if he boasted to this man that his vocal range exactly matched a castrati. Others would be impressed Kurt naturally had a unique range others had lost their manhood to achieve, but obviously Mr. Anderson had a different intention.

"I can sing tenor and countertenor, but my glee clubs have mainly given me parts at the high end of my range."

"Soprano parts," John pressed.

Alec snorted into his glass and choked a few times on his water. He wore something between a smirk and smile in the corner of his mouth, like his dad had just made an excellent joke. Kurt felt decidedly hot under the collar under the scrutiny and heaping insults. Locker checks and dumpster tosses, he could handle. But this was too much like prom night with the subtle, vicious attacks he had no way to rebut.

"Dad," Blaine snapped warningly.

Kurt glanced over at his boyfriend just as Blaine's gaze shifted in his direction. He read such anguish in Blaine's eyes it tore his heart apart. He wanted to reach over and take his hand, to assure Blaine that what he'd said twice now, he'd meant both times: he would never say good-bye.

"Does that mean you're a Warbler?" Lydia asked, finally joining the conversation.

"I was a Warbler when I went to Dalton, but I've transferred back to my old school. My glee club is called New Directions."

He made sure to pronounce the club name like Rachel did to avoid the double entendre. He didn't want to give these people any more fodder to use against him.

"Kurt is an amazing singer," Blaine chimed in. "The Council almost cried when we lost him to McKinley. We sang a duet together at Regionals, and Kurt was just stunning."

Kurt flushed under the compliment, but his pleasure was short-lived.

"Didn't the Warblers lose at Regionals?" John asked. "Oh, well, maybe next time."

The accusation stung, but this time it raised Kurt's hackles. Slights to his masculinity were a dime a dozen, and he'd learned to brush them off even if they did hurt. But no one insulted his singing voice and got away with it.

"Blaine told me you're up for a promotion at the university, Mr. Anderson. Will you be the department head in the fall?" Kurt asked, outwardly pleasant and inwardly waiting to pounce.

John cleared his throat. "Ah, Blaine told you about that? Well, no, actually. They've gone with another professor who has been at the university longer."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe next time."

The Andersons went deadly still. Alec looked on the verge of laughter, and Lydia showed the first real signs of emotion by arching her eyebrows and winking at Kurt. Blaine gaped, clearly not expecting his boyfriend's hallmark bitchiness to make an appearance today. John seethed and glowered at Kurt.

The waiter came by with their food a few seconds after Kurt's snarky remark and handed out their food. They ate in silence for a few moments until John decided he wasn't finished verbally lashing Kurt just yet.

"Now that you're back at your old school you'll be going to Nationals, is that right? I'm not sure I approve, Blaine, of you dating someone who jumps ship whenever a better opportunity comes along."

"That's not what happened, dad. I told you about the situation at McKinley," Blaine said.

"Hmm. Yeah, the supposed bully had a change of heart."

Supposed. The word felt like a smack in the face. After everything Kurt had gone through – sexual assault, death threats, public humiliation – to imply it was all in his head was the most degrading thing Mr. Anderson had said so far. Kurt's jaw set so tightly he felt his cheek muscles straining, but he knew if he opened his mouth, he'd go too far.

"There was nothing supposed about it," Blaine insisted.

Blaine's voice had taken on a sharp, angry edge. He sounded just like the night they'd ran into Karofsky in the hallway and Blaine had lost his temper. Lost in his own haze of fury, Kurt almost missed the expression on Mr. Anderson's face. But he did see it, and for a moment, he couldn't believe it. Satisfaction. He was baiting Blaine on purpose.

Kurt's anger vanished in a heartbeat, because this, not the verbal insults, was the real tragedy. A father meaningfully upsetting his son, like it was a game or a good joke, like his emotions were playthings. It made no sense to Kurt. He couldn't wrap his mind around it. He'd never fathomed this kind of father-son relationship in all his life, because what he had with his dad was so solid and healthy he'd never had to contemplate a life without Burt's love.

"What I guess I don't understand is why Kurt can go back to his old school after just a couple months while you've been hiding at Dalton for years," John went on.

And that's when Kurt knew he wasn't imagining it, that Mr. Anderson really was that twisted. Because he'd used the word "hiding," and Blaine was so sensitive about his decision to transfer, even though staying at his old school after the Sadie Hawkins dance would have been reckless and dangerous.

"Our situations were entirely different," Kurt said.

The calm in his voice surprised him, because he was livid right now. He had never had particularly violent thoughts. He'd only had one physical altercation in his life, and that was to defend Blaine. Maybe it was fitting, then, that at that moment, stabbing Mr. Anderson with the salad fork seemed like a pretty nice idea.

"One of my friends at McKinley was able to get through to my bully. He genuinely regrets his actions now. We're not exactly friends, and I'm not sure we'll ever be, but he's trying to educate himself. It's safe for me at McKinley now."

"Yeah," Alec interjected, "but didn't they crown you Prom Queen?"

Kurt furrowed his brow at Alec. Didn't he understand what was happening here? Couldn't he see that his dad was deliberately antagonizing Blaine for no other reason than to see him in distress? Did he not realize how messed up that was? Or was this whole family so irrevocably screwed up that this was normal for them? They certainly didn't behave with the kind of civility one expected when dining in a public place, much less when meeting a new person for the first time.

"Yes, they did," Kurt answered. "And I looked fabulous in the tiara."

A little smile played in the corner of Blaine's mouth, but Kurt saw that intense pain lingered in his eyes. They had talked about their fathers, and Kurt thought he knew the situation. But like he always did, Blaine had played down just how bad things were between them. Just as he'd once said "I was taunted at my old school" when he'd meant "some guys beat the living crap out of me," he'd made his relationship with his dad sound tense and damaged when it reality it was hostile and warped.

"What are your parents like, Kurt?" Lydia asked.

The stunned pause when Kurt hadn't gotten upset over the Prom Queen remark had given her a space to interject a more pleasant tone into the conversation. Kurt thought he might have an ally at the table, if only because they had a mutual hatred for Mr. Anderson.

"My dad is a mechanic. He owns Hummel Tire and Lube in Lima. My mother passed away when I was eight, but my dad remarried a wonderful woman, Carole, a few months ago. My stepbrother, Finn, is also in McKinley's glee club."

"Oh, were you friends before and that's how they met?"

"Ah … something like that," Kurt hedged.

"And what does your father think about … this."

John gestured with his fork in the general direction of Kurt and Blaine. Kurt grinned a little, because he was going to take savage pleasure in giving this answer. He gave it a moment's thought, finding just the right words to drive home how little Kurt thought of his boyfriend's father.

"My dad has always been very supportive of my relationship with Blaine. Sometimes they drive me crazy talking football too much, but I'm happy they get along. It means a lot to me that my dad genuinely likes Blaine and doesn't just tolerate him because we're together."

No one said anything for few moments after Kurt's speech. Blaine cast a grateful, emotional look in Kurt's direction.

"So … a mechanic, huh? Has he seen the Mustang?" Blaine nodded at his dad. "What does he think of our baby?"

"He asked if he could drive it when we all go see Riverdance tomorrow night," Kurt said airily, as if he wasn't criticizing Mr. Anderson at all. "Only if it's okay with you, though, Blaine. He's not demanding you turn over control of your car to him to do whatever he wants with it. He'd never do that."

Kurt wasn't talking about a car anymore and everyone at the table knew it. Because that, Kurt suspected, was the real problem between Blaine and his father. Mr. Anderson wanted a straight son, but Blaine refused to comply. He refused to give up control of his own identity to someone else.

"I take it that means he approves of your lifestyle," Lydia commented.

"If you mean the fact that I'm gay, then, yes, I suppose he does. It's not something he feels the need to approve or disapprove of, though. It would be like approving of the fact that I have gray eyes. He's more concerned with my choices and making sure I'm a healthy, happy man."

"He sounds like a wonderful man," Lydia said. She smiled for the first time through lunch.

"He's a great man."

All eyes turned to Blaine, who looked startled that he'd said it out loud with such conviction. His eyes flickered fearfully to his father. Mr. Anderson wore such a look of loathing on his face Blaine physically pushed himself back against his chair.

"Mr. Hummel likes cars, football, Irish dancing, and you," John spat at his son. "All I'm convinced of is that he's confused on two counts."


	3. Drift

**Three**  
>"<strong>Drift"<strong>

Not surprisingly, lunch concluded very shortly after everyone cleared their plates. John excused himself to go speak to a friend in the lobby, and Alec drifted away without so much as a good-bye. Lydia lapsed into distraction answering e-mails on her phone.

The whole lunch had left Blaine with a roiling pit in his stomach. He turned towards Kurt to tell his boyfriend they could leave now, they could escape this toxic family. They could go back to Lima and spend the afternoon watching Disney movies with the Hummel-Hudsons. The words died in his throat.

Kurt's hands clenched into white fists on the tabletop, and his whole body trembled slightly. Splotches of color ignited his cheeks, and his darkened eyes glassed over. Blaine's heart constricted in his chest. The last time he'd seen Kurt this upset was prom night. Shame and sorrow overtook Blaine, and his eyes dropped to his lap.

He'd done this. He'd brought Kurt here knowing nothing but humiliation would come from it. He'd caused the boy he loved as much pain as the ignorant students of McKinley. More. Because Blaine was supposed to care for him, to protect him. Tears pooled in Blaine's eyes.

Without warning, Kurt stood up from the table and stormed out of the restaurant. Blaine swallowed rapidly to stave off the nausea building. So this was it. This was how Blaine screwed up their relationship. He always knew he would. But that he'd done it by exposing Kurt to such hatred cut him to the core.

Tears splashed onto Blaine's thigh, and he rubbed at his eyes fiercely. He couldn't do this here, not in public, not in the country club, not when Kurt had been hurt so much more. He stood up, tossed his linen napkin onto his seat, and went to go look for Kurt.

The clubhouse was large, and it took Blaine a long time to search everywhere. Panic began rising in chest when he couldn't find Kurt anywhere. Nearly half an hour had passed, and there was no sign of Kurt. Keeping his grief at bay was becoming near impossible. At last, Blaine pulled out his phone and typed with trembling fingers.

_I know you probably don't want to talk to me, but please tell me where you are. –Blaine_

The response came much sooner than Blaine expected.

_I'm outside around the duck pond. –Kurt_

He didn't hesitate to barge out of the clubhouse into the sticky early summer heat and charge around the building and across the lawn towards the pond. As Blaine hurried down the hill, he spotted Kurt sitting on a wooden bench off the narrow walking trail wending from the woods and around the pond. The family that had been picnicking earlier had gone.

Blaine slowed when he neared the bench. He hovered for a moment before sitting down next to Kurt, but far enough away to give the other boy plenty of space. Kurt didn't like being touched when he was upset, and he would probably never want to see Blaine again, much less touch him. The thought brought fresh tears to Blaine's eyes. He blinked and they caught in his thick eyelashes.

"Kurt."

The other boy sniffed and rubbed at his nose with a handkerchief that matched his outfit. The sight of it put a lump in Blaine's throat. He loved this boy so much. Everything about him, even the slightly ridiculous parts.

"Come here," Kurt directed.

Blaine looked up, confused, to see Kurt had his arms open. He didn't understand, so he didn't move. Kurt clucked his tongue, then slid down the bench and wrapped his arms around Blaine's neck. His fingers petted the soft hair at the nape of Blaine's neck, and he guided Blaine's head down onto his shoulder.

A tear splashed onto Blaine's temple, and he sat up abruptly, severing the hug. Kurt's hands slipped from his neck and came to rest over the tops of his hands. His boyfriend had started crying again. Heavy teardrops rolled down his cheeks leaving wide trails in their wake. Blaine breathed deeply to keep his own emotions in check. He turned away towards the pond, but Kurt kept hold of his hands.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt," he whispered hoarsely. "I knew he would be difficult, but I didn't think he'd say all those things."

"Is he always like this?"

Blaine nodded. "Pretty much."

"How do you stand it? Even being around him for an hour a week is too much. Why do you put yourself through it?"

Blaine's brow furrowed, because he didn't understand where Kurt was going with this. Surely they were meant to be having a different conversation, one about the horrible things his dad had said to Kurt and how none of them were true.

"I – Kurt, I'm sorry. I should have stood up for you more in there. I don't know what I was thinking just letting him talk to you like that. I should have … done … _something_."

Kurt said nothing for a long time, and Blaine couldn't bring himself to make eye contact, to see the disgust and pain replace affection and tenderness. Blaine sighed deeply and gave a sad nod of resignation to the nothing in front of him. His shoulders slumped forward, and he ducked his head.

"Kurt, I – I just want you to know how much I'll always care about you. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't protect you like I should have." He sighed again. "I'll take you home now. Unless … if you'd rather ask someone to come get you …."

"Oh, Blaine."

Kurt's voice cracked. Hands found their way to his face, fingers brushing around his cheeks and stroking at his hair. Gentle but forceful palms cupped his jaw and forced him to look up. The tears had stopped flowing, but Kurt's bright aquamarine eyes were rimmed with red.

"Blaine, those things he said, they're not true."

"I know that!" Blaine felt a stab of hurt in his chest. "I know how wonderful you are. I know what I've … lost."

His voice cracked on the last word, and his chin hit his chest. Kurt's fingers paused in their strokes for a moment before starting up again. A light kiss pressed into his hair, and Kurt laid his chin against Blaine's temple.

"Oh, baby. I know you don't think clearly when you're hurt, but you can't really think this is what a breakup looks like. This is me comforting you."

Blaine raised his head and peered into Kurt's sad eyes. "You called me 'baby'."

"That's what you got from that?" Kurt inquired, raising an eyebrow pointedly. "Because I think the point was that I'm not breaking up with you. I don't care what anyone says about us, I won't let it get to me."

"But you're crying. You stormed out. It's because of what he said to you, and because I didn't protect you the way I should have."

Kurt pursed his lips. "You should try asking me about my reactions instead of assigning motivations to my actions. If you'd asked instead of jumping to conclusions, you'd know that I stormed out to stop myself from murdering your father with my salad fork and that I'm crying – "

Kurt's voice softened.

"I've been tossed into dumpsters so that academically challenged jocks could feel superior to me in some regard; I've been slammed against lockers because boys insecure with their masculinity couldn't stand my confidence; I've been harassed by a boy who hates himself so much he lashed out at the object of his desire. But I have never seen anything as hateful as what I saw in there."

"What he said about y – "

"No, Blaine! Not me. The words he threw at me, I've heard my whole life. I'm talking about what he said to you. What he did to you the entire time we were in there."

Blaine shook his head, confused and not following. Kurt's eyes filled with sorrow.

"And he's been doing it so long, you can't even see it. Can I ask you something? The first day we met, you told me you were taunted at your old school and it really pissed you off."

Blaine nodded, but Kurt didn't follow up with a question. He simply stared pointedly at Blaine. For a moment, he only stared back, because he didn't understand. And then he did. In a second, it all clicked into place. Everything that had happened from the first day he'd come out to his parents, it all made sense.

The criticisms weren't meant as helpful suggestions to make him a better person. The insults weren't angry words accidentally said in the heat of the moment. The Mustang wasn't rebuilt to make him straight. All of it was a one, giant years-long taunt. Because that's what the Andersons did. Unhappy in their marriage, his parents had torn each other apart with words. Unhappy with their children, they screamed until the offending behavior stopped. Unhappy with his son's sexuality, John taunted because he'd seen bullies get to Blaine that way and knew he could too.

Blaine didn't remember deciding to let his anguish out, but ended up in Kurt's arms anyway, his body shaking with sobs. He cried like he never had before. Because this was so much more sinister than he'd ever thought. He heard himself talking in shuddering breaths between strangled sobs, and he felt Kurt pulling him close, whispering soothing sounds into his ear.

"Why does he hate me so much? Why does he hate me so much?"

He asked it again and again, but Kurt had no answer. Of course, he had no answer. Burt loved him so fiercely it startled Blaine sometimes. They would be sitting at dinner or watching a movie or just hanging out in the living room, and Burt would get this look in his eye when he looked at Kurt, like Kurt was the entire world. Blaine supposed his parents had looked at him like that once. Maybe the day he was born, when he was perfect and never annoyed them or disappointed them. Because unconditional was not a kind of love Andersons knew.

That scared Blaine. Kurt deserved that level of love, and Blaine didn't know if he had the ability to give that much of himself to another person. He didn't know if he had that much love in him. How could he? Parents taught their children how to love. His parents had never taught him properly.

The sobs subsided after a while, and then the tears dried up. Kurt pushed his handkerchief into Blaine's hand. He never stopped touching Blaine with gentle caresses. Kurt didn't like being touched when he was upset, but Blaine craved physical affection most during those times. A frightening, hollow calm settled over Blaine when the tears stopped. He stared out over the pond with itching eyes and stuttering breath. Kurt rubbed circles on his back.

"What do I do now, Kurt?"

"'Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.'"

"Seneca. Really, Kurt? Your prep school boy is showing."

"You keep doing what you've always done, Blaine, but you do it with your eyes open now. I'm here for you, Blaine, and so are all of our friends and my family. You'll find a way have a happy life, because – "

"There's not a damned thing wrong with me. And no one worth my time thinks there is."

Kurt smiled sadly. "I think that one's going to get repeated a lot more than 'You matter.'"

Blaine drew in a shuddering breath. He felt oddly light, like some thundercloud hanging over his head had suddenly cleared. Ironically, the world looked darker to him. Everything that used to be bright had taken on an ominous shadow. Except Kurt, who looked more luminous than ever.

"Do you want to go back to my house?" Kurt asked. "I – I think my dad would want to hear about what happened. Maybe you two could build a deck extension while you talk about _Vogue_."

Blaine leaned over and pressed his lips lightly to Kurt's. "I appreciate your willingness to rent out your dad for the afternoon. And … I think will talk to him, but not today. I need some time to process everything first."

"Okay. Just promise that you'll remember we're here for you."

"Promise. Kurt? Do I look as awful as I feel?"

He touched at the puffiness under his eyes and rubbed the back of his hand over his tear-stained cheeks. Kurt didn't answer, but kissed him lightly, which Blaine figured probably did mean he looked horrific.

"Too bad. I wanted to go use the piano in the clubhouse. I need to express myself."

Kurt didn't hesitate to take his hand and pull him up from the bench.


	4. Shifting

**Four**  
>"<strong>Shifting"<strong>

"Kurt, I can't go in there looking like this!" Blaine protested.

Kurt peered over his shoulder and conceded that Blaine did look in bad shape, which meant he probably did as well. Walking through the country club looking like this would do nothing but draw attention to them, and prying eyes was the last thing they needed right now.

The countertenor made a detour to the parking lot. As Blaine unlocked the doors at Kurt's request, he wondered how much longer the Mustang would be around and if the next time Blaine came to his house he would be behind the wheel of a modern, air conditioned sedan.

Kurt pulled his duffel bag from the backseat of the car and rummaged through the neatly folded workout clothes he'd danced in this morning until he found the small bag of toiletries at the bottom. Among the miniature bottles of shampoo, moist towelettes, conceaer, antiseptic, bandages, tissues, and nail care kit, he found the bottle of eye drops.

"Sit."

Blaine let himself be guided onto the front seat, and Kurt tipped his boyfriend's head back. He let several droplets fall into Blaine's right eye, let his boyfriend blink at the foreign moisture, and then did his left eye.

"Why do you have eye drops?" Blaine asked, brushing off the saline tears from his cheeks.

"Only someone who has never had a slushie thrown in their face would ask that. But it comes in handy in glee too. You have no idea how often our rehearsals involve tears."

Kurt tipped his own head back and squirted the solution into his eyes. He screwed the cap back on and threw it into the handbag, and then drew out the moist towelettes. Really, washing their faces would take care of the puffiness much better, but the water bottle in his bag had gone too warm to do any good.

Blaine started when Kurt first swiped the moist cloth along his jaw. Kurt took his time cleaning each part of Blaine's face. His boyfriend looked so innocent and young with his eyes closed, face tilted up. He paid special attention to the soft, tender skin under Blaine's eyes and his red cheeks.

"You don't have to take care of me, Kurt," Blaine murmured.

"No, I don't have to. But sometimes I get to."

Kurt worked a fresh towelette around his own face next while Blaine watched with an unreadable expression. It made Kurt self-conscious under that kind of scrutiny. The look reminded him of the one Blaine had worn during "Blackbird." But he didn't know why it would be back now, and Blaine wasn't offering up any information.

"So where is this piano?"

Neither of the boys looked daisy fresh, but neither did they draw unwanted attention inside the clubhouse. Kurt feared more than anything running into Mr. Anderson inside and almost wanted to suggest driving to Dalton, which wasn't that far away, and using the piano there, but he wasn't sure the choir room would be unlocked or if they could find a janitor willing to cooperate.

They didn't run into Mr. Anderson or any of Blaine's family, however. Blaine led Kurt on a seemingly circuitous route around the clubhouse to a small lounge at the west end of the building. A smallish room decorated in rich browns contained several plush couches to the right and an open space on the left. An upright piano faced the room.

"This is where the performing musical groups warm up," Blaine explained. "The Warblers sang here a couple times last year."

The window faced the road and woods, and when Blaine closed the door behind them, it cut them off visually from the rest of the country club. He took up Kurt's hand again and led him around to the narrow piano bench.

"This song is normally sung on the guitar, but of course I don't have one with me."

"That's all right. You played "One Fine Day" on the guitar, and that's for a piano. I'm sure you can make this song work on the piano."

Blaine placed his fingers over the keys and breathed deeply. Kurt knew those moments just before beginning a song too well. Even when alone, the hesitancy to pour out your soul into the words and melody was sometimes overwhelming. But at a moment like this, when the words and melody were the only way you had to express yourself, it was that much harder to begin. The inclination to wait, to hold in the pain for just another second overpowered even the love of singing sometimes.

"Do you want me to play?" Kurt offered.

He wasn't fantastic on piano like Blaine was, but he could play well enough. Blaine shook his head, however. Another few seconds passed before Blaine began playing. His fingers moved tentatively, picking out a soft, simple melody Kurt had never heard before. When Blaine sang, his voice was light and full of hurt.

"_In the chilly hours and minutes,  
>Of uncertainty, I want to be,<br>In the warm hold of your loving mind._

_To feel you all around me,_  
><em>And to take your hand, along the sand,<em>  
><em>Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind."<em>

Kurt's fingers found his lips. The last line of the chorus hit him like a lead weight, and the anguish in Blaine's voice brought fresh tears to his eyes. During the rainstorm, Kurt had thought hearing Blaine sing "One Fine Day" was the most tortured performance he'd ever seen, not just from Blaine, but from anyone. But "One Fine Day" was a song about hope; "Catch the Wind" was a song about losing hope.

_"When sundown pales the sky,  
>I wanna hide a while, behind your smile,<br>And everywhere I'd look, your eyes I'd find._

_For me to love you now,_  
><em>Would be the sweetest thing, 'twould make me sing,<em>  
><em>Ah, but I may as well, try and catch the wind."<em>

He stared at his boyfriend, who leaned so low over the keys Kurt almost couldn't see his deeply furrowed brow and eyes screwed shut in agony when he sang about love. Kurt wondered, was that line meant for Mr. Anderson? Or had Blaine's feelings towards his father changed?

_"When rain has hung the leaves with tears,  
>I want you near, to kill my fears<br>To help me to leave all my blues behind._

_For standin' in your heart,_  
><em>Is where I want to be, and I long to be,<em>  
><em>Ah, but I may as well, try and catch the wind."<em>

The song trailed off with Blaine's voice fading out. His eyes stayed fixated on his lap. Kurt rubbed comforting circles on his boyfriend's back. He didn't know what to say after hearing the song Blaine had chosen to give voice to the turmoil he must be feeling. So he waited for the moment to pass and to gain a glimmer of wisdom about where to go from here.

"Thank you, Kurt. I know you probably just wanted to leave, but this really helped."

"I understand. Not too long before I met you, when I thought I was about to become an orphan, I sang "I Want to Hold Your Hand" in glee. It didn't change the situation at all, and it dredged up a lot of memories, but it let me share with my friends how much I hurt, and that was some comfort."

Blaine nodded and grinned sadly. "I knew you'd understand, Kurt. That story makes me wish my song choice hadn't been so on-the-nose."

"Sometimes it can't be helped. You still have left over bonus points for making "Candles" a love song and for "One Fine Day." I'm not judging you."

Blaine tilted his head and pressed his lips to Kurt's. They were too emotionally exhausted to put much passion into the kiss, so they moved over to the couches and cuddled up together on the largest sofa. To Kurt's surprise, Blaine wanted to be the big spoon.

"Is this your Napoleon complex kicking in again?" he teased.

Blaine rolled his eyes playfully and pulled Kurt against his body. He felt so warm, pleasantly so again the chilly air pumping into the small room from the ceiling vents, and so solid. Kurt snuggled into his chest, and Blaine hummed contentedly.

"Kurt."

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you were here with me today. I mean, I hate what you had to go through." Kurt opened his mouth to protest again, but Blaine rushed on. "But I – Sometimes I feel like you're the only person in the world I can really be myself around. My friends are wonderful, but they don't understand everything about me. It's not their fault, and they try, but they're not gay. So there's another reason same sex relationships are better – more shared experiences."

Kurt smiled into Blaine's chest. "I feel the same way, Blaine. No matter how much my friends and family emphasize and do an amazing job of it, there are some parts I can only share with you."

"I hate that you had to see me like that, though. I feel like all I do around you lately is cry."

"Welcome to my world," Kurt said with a chuckle. "That's what I felt like when we first met. But things got better for me, and they will for you too. God, I sound like an afterschool special."

"Kurt …. There's this local gang harassing me to join, and I'm afraid to say no because – " Kurt smacked his arm lightly. "No, seriously, Kurt. These guys are badass. They do big musical numbers and everything. Just like in _Grease_."

"Oh my God. The Warblers as a 1950's greaser gang. Someone should write a musical about that. Maybe I'll get to it after I finish the one I'm writing about Pippa Middleton."

"So you're really going to write that one, huh?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That I'm sure it will be fabulous and a huge success."

Kurt made a derisive sound in his throat, but let it go. Bitching at his boyfriend was just not going to happen today. Instead, he settled back against Blaine's chest and focused on their steady heartbeats thumping in time. The rhythmic lull teased his eyelids into fluttering shut.

**o o o**

When Kurt woke up, he sensed something was very wrong. There was a sharp, metallic taste in the air like static electricity. What he had at first mistaken for out of tune piano keys was actually hail pinging against the window. Kurt pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed at his eyes to clear the last vestiges of sleep clinging to his muddled brain.

"It's been like this for about an hour," Blaine said.

Kurt started. His boyfriend lay stretched out on the couch gazing at him perfectly cogent, which Kurt knew from experience meant he hadn't slept at all. Blaine was a zombie when he woke up, whether in the morning or after a nap.

"Why did you let me sleep?"

"Because I'm not a jerk who makes his sleepy boyfriend stay awake? You looked so peaceful. I like watching you sleep." His face shifted into something like panic. "Oh, okay. That sounded a lot less creepy in my head."

Kurt laughed and trotted over to the window. "It's fine. I – _Oh my God!_"

Blaine leapt up from the couch and joined Kurt at the window. Clouds raced across the sky which had turned a sickly greenish color. Both boys groaned. This weather was too common in late spring and early summer.

"I'll bet you an Yves St. Laurent scarf when we go into the lobby we'll find out there's a tornado warning for Columbus," Blaine said.

"Like I'm going to take those odds. Come on. Let's get away from the window."

They ran into very few people in the clubhouse, and through the glimpses of the parking lot they caught in the windows, most of the county clubbers had gone home when the weather began to turn. A clutch of golfers on the back nine had been stranded, though.

"I'll go talk to the front desk and find out what's going on," Blaine said. "You should call your dad so he doesn't worry."

Kurt pulled out his phone while his boyfriend hurried over to an employee. He had seventeen missed calls. He'd been too preoccupied after lunch to turn his phone back on, and all the calls had gone straight to voicemail. Kurt didn't bother listening to them; he knew they'd all be from his dad. Burt answered on the first ring.

"_Kurt! Thank God! We were worried sick about you! Why did you have your phone off? You know it's supposed to be on when you're away from home. I've been –_ "

"Dad! I'm sorry," Kurt interjected. He made sure Blaine was still across the lobby before saying anything more. "Things didn't go well at lunch. I forgot to turn my phone back on."

"_What happened?_" Burt's worried voice had gone cold and hard.

"I don't have time to tell you right now, but it was so much worse than I thought. But, listen, I'm safe, okay? Blaine is talking to someone now about what's going on. I'll call you back and let you know if we can make it home."

"_No, Kurt. You stay there. There's not a warning for Westerville yet, but it's getting worse there. Don't try to make it home. The storms are moving this way._"

"Okay. But eventually the country club is going to close, and we're going to have to leave."

"_Then stay the night at Dalton._"

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Dad, did you just give me permission to stay overnight in my boyfriend's dorm room?"

"_No!_" Burt practically bellowed. "_Stay in Nick or Jeff's room. I'm serious, Kurt._"

"Okay! Okay! Geez. I was joking, you know."

"_I'm not okay with joking about my son's virginity._"

Kurt went beet red and pressed his palm over the speaker in his phone while he glanced around furtively to make sure no one had heard that thunderous remark. His silence indicated something other than embarrassment to his father.

"_Oh, God_," Burt groaned. "_You at least read the pamphlets, right?_"

"No! Yes, I did. But no …. Dad … Dad, this is not the appropriate time." Kurt turned his back on the room, hunched over, and hissed into the phone. "I'm still a virgin!"

"_Yeah. Okay. Just … stay safe." _Kurt flushed deeply._ "In the storm! And, you know, when the time comes, you be safe then too. But, for right now, don't get sucked up into a funnel cloud. Or at all._"

It took Kurt a minute to get that one, and when he did, he kind of wanted to curl up into a ball and die right there. He mumbled a good-bye to his father and turned around to find Blaine standing right behind him with an arched eyebrow and shit-eating grin.

"I don't know how a conversation about tornadoes turns into a declaration of virginity, but …" Blaine gazed off into the middle distance. "Oh, no, wait. I think I get it."

If Kurt wasn't burning head to toe having this conversation over the phone with his dad, he certainly was right now. He jammed the phone back into his pocket angrily. Blaine's expression softened, and he cocked his head to the side.

"Aw. I'm sorry, Kurt. I know better than to say stuff like that." He allowed the briefest pause to pass to indicate a change in topic. "There's a tornado watch, and the state police are recommending we stay here until this passes. We could try to make it to Dalton. It's about ten minutes away."

Kurt's cheeks burned at the idea of having to tell his dad he did, in fact, spend the night at Dalton.

"Uh, no. No, we should stay here. My dad asked us not to leave if we could avoid it."

Blaine nodded. "Then we'll stay here. Do you want to get dinner?"

"Yeah. I'm starving."

They walked into the dining room close together, but not holding hands. The soft caresses and kisses from this afternoon had passed. Now that Blaine had calmed down, he didn't need to be constantly touched. Prom had broken down some of these barriers, but not all of them, and Kurt respected his boyfriend's wishes to not purposefully draw attention in public any more than they already did.

"Will you be eating with your father?" the hostess asked when Blaine gave his name.

"M-my father is still here?"

"A lot of the golfers on the back nine got in late and decided to wait the storm out here."

The woman turned and pointed to a table where John sat with Alec and two other men in hideous salmon golf pants. Kurt saw the panic and indecision in Blaine's eyes. If they didn't eat with John, that would cause problems, but neither boy wanted to sit down to another meal with Blaine's dad.

"Table for three." Lydia said, walking up behind the boys. "If I have to sit through another meal with your father I'll go to jail for premeditated murder."

Kurt wanted to laugh, except the hatred in Lydia's eyes made it appear that she was serious. Nevertheless, he was grateful for any excuse to avoid Mr. Anderson. From what Blaine had said, she wasn't the most affectionate or involved mother, but she didn't hate her son, and that, sadly, made her a pretty good parent by Anderson standards.


	5. Eye

**Five**  
>"<strong>Eye"<strong>

Lydia watched the boys across the table with an appraising eye, as if she had a sketchbook in hand and was about to press her pencil tip to the paper for the first time. Blaine's features she knew well. She had been peering at him over the top of easels since he was a baby.

But Kurt she had only just seen for the first time at lunch. She couldn't have been happier with her son's choice of boyfriend. He was exquisite. The strong lines of his square jaw contrasted so poetically with the delicate features of his face. And his eyes. Lydia thought she could mix paint for days and never match the color exactly.

He reminded Lydia of the young boys painted by Italian Renaissance masters. He was the perfect mix of innocent and sensual, masculine and feminine, earthly and divine. Visages like his should gaze down on awestruck spectators at galleries for centuries to come.

"Have you considered modeling, Kurt?"

The boy in question paused with his menu halfway opened. He stared at her with wide eyes, clearly startled by the suggestion. A little smile pulled at the corner of Blaine's mouth as his eyes – sadly, like his father's – shifted to rake over his boyfriend's handsome face. Oh, yes, Blaine knew how beautiful Kurt was. It gave Lydia hope that maybe her son was a little more like her after all. Maybe instead of singing all the time, he'd pick up a pencil and start sketching this gorgeous boy.

"N-No. I can't say that I have."

"Well, you should. Blaine said you're going to college in New York. There are a dozen art schools that would fall all over themselves to have you model for their classes."

The boy looked even more startled by that suggestion. "Oh. Classes? Like … _nude_?"

Lydia arched an eyebrow. "Of course."

"I don't think that's the kind of modeling Kurt had in mind," Blaine rushed to say. "I think haute couture is more his style. I can so see you strutting down the catwalk, Kurt."

The pale boy smiled widely, and then chewed on his bottom lip to fight his extreme pleasure at the compliment. Lydia sighed harshly and frowned down at her menu, which was when she finally noticed the clothes Kurt had chosen to wear today. She had been too distracted by his face to pay much mind to his outfit before.

"Those stick figures who prance down runaways to blaring music and pose for photographers are not models. They're walking billboards. A model is a person who bares their body and soul for art, who inspires the artist to capture the beauty in everything. There is nothing genuine about the bitchy faces and supposedly sultry looks at a fashion show."

Kurt's jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed in the most extraordinary way. They actually changed colors, like the sea before a storm. She couldn't quite push past the glare in those eyes to appreciate their beauty.

"Speaking of a bitchy face," she remarked.

"Mom," Blaine said sharply.

She held up her palms in a sign of surrender and went back to browsing the menu. No one said anything until the waiter arrived to take their order five minutes later. The sound of hail beating on the windows abated, but the wind picked up. All the trees visible through the restaurant windows leaned dramatically to the east, like they were wispy reeds instead of mighty oaks. Unsecured furniture slid across the deck outside, and employees in ponchos ran around the lawn chasing escaping lawn ornaments.

Lydia couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Kurt, you can't let your beauty go to waste. You could be immortalized in art, if you'd just give it a chance. Your face is magnificent, Kurt. I'm sure your body is too. Right, Blaine?"

Kurt's eyes went round as saucers, and he swallowed quickly. Blaine, normally so eloquent, sputtered. Lydia arched an eyebrow.

"How long have you two been dating again?"

Kurt flushed deep crimson and turned his eyes away from the table to stare out the window. Even Blaine's cheeks had taken on a pale pink blush. Lydia chuckled deep in her throat.

"Oh, boy. The gay scene in New York is going to eat you alive if you don't catch up."

"Mom! This is not an appropriate topic. And that's saying something if _I_ have to tell you that."

"I'm just trying – "

"I know what you're trying to do. This is a private matter for Kurt and I to talk about and decide on our own. It's not up for public discussion. And while we're at it, let's stop talking about my boyfriend posing nude. It's really creepy for my mom to suggest that."

Lydia stared hard at her youngest son. It amazed her sometimes how little he'd changed in the two years since she'd moved to Boston. She had expected Dalton would instill some sense of decorum in him. But no, he continued to lash out at her every time John said something hurtful. She'd said nothing wrong here, and they all knew it. But she would take Blaine's verbal abuse because he was her son, and he needed her to do it.

"All right, Blaine. All right." She gave a long-suffering sigh.

Blaine looked like he wanted to say more, but didn't. His hand moved under the table, maybe to take Kurt's hand, and the other boy finally turned his attention back to the table. His cold eyes surveyed Lydia, and then turned down to his salad.

"What's a safe topic? Your boyfriend's winning personality?" she asked, acerbically.

"Mom, please."

Blaine didn't sound angry at her anymore. He sounded tired. Now Kurt's hand moved under the table. Lydia wondered at the other boy's lack of reaction to her comment. Shouldn't he have rushed to apologize and defend himself? That's what Alec and Blaine always did.

"Well, since we can't find a topic, maybe we should all just sit here in silence."

The lack of conversation over dinner affected Kurt very quickly. Within two minutes, his eyes were darting around furtively. He looked like he was praying for a tornado to rip through the country club, because even imminent death was better than awkward silence. Blaine, of course, did much better, having more experience.

Kurt laid down his fork before he'd finished even half his salad. Blaine cast sad, distressed eyes at his boyfriend and let his own fork clatter to his plate. Lydia watched in silence. She noted the melodramatic tragedy on their young faces and the way charcoal could capture the moment so perfectly. She would suggest they hold the pose if she thought Blaine wouldn't blow up at her.

"Thank you for dinner, Mom. If you'll excuse us …."

Lydia leaned back in her chair and observed the way the boys moved around each other as they left the restaurant. They so clearly wanted to hold hands, but refrained for some reason. It was almost comical they way their fingers twitched towards the other and then pressed into their thighs again.

"I hope you're not encouraging this."

Lydia's head whipped around and up. Her ex-husband towered over the table with a stormy expression on his face. She rolled her eyes at him, snatched her purse up, and stalked off. John couldn't take a hint and followed her.

"I'm serious, Di."

"Di? Oh, John. Has it really been that long that you're reduced to begging your ex-wife?"

John huffed like a winded rhino. "We're talking about Blaine and the fact that you seem perfectly okay with that boy seducing him. I was this close to getting through to him. And you're ruining it all being nice to his … his …"

"Boyfriend."

"His friend."

Lydia rolled her eyes and flapped a hand at him as she walked off again. She didn't know where she was going. She just wanted to climb into her car and drive off all the way back to Boston. This entire trip back had been a bad idea, and she wished she'd made Alec and Blaine come see her sometime during the summer. But Alec was backpacking across Europe, and Blaine had some amusement park performance. And now she was stuck putting up with John for a week.

God, the things she did for her children.

"Lydia!"

"Where is Alec?" she asked. "I'd like to spend some time with my other son. Maybe he won't be as petulant as Blaine is being right now. You know, he's a lot like you that way. I'm surprised you're not closer."

John looked about ready to spontaneously combust at the mere notion of being close to his gay son. Lydia grinned a little at the idea and sorted through which of his buttons she should push next to make it actually happen.

"Nevermind. I'll find Alec on my own."

Lydia left her ex-husband and went in search of her oldest son. She thought the gym would be a likely place. Whenever he was stressed – and after golfing with John who wouldn't be? – he liked to work it out in the weight room.

What she found instead brought her up short outside a room mostly devoid of furniture, save for a few folding chairs. It was probably a banquet hall, empty because no events had been scheduled today. But what drew her interest more was the two boys standing in shadow. The taller held the shorter close, his head bent down slightly and lips whispering. His eyes were closed, and his face a picture of pain.

It took Lydia a moment to realize the boys were Blaine and Kurt it was such a beautiful moment.

She fished out a small sketchpad she always kept in her purse and drew out the heavy pencil tucked into the top spiral. Her skilled hands worked quickly to outline the shapes of their bodies, but she wanted more than anything to catch the expression on Kurt's face. She glanced up to do just that and dropped her pencil.

Never in her life had Lydia seen anything as terrifying. Kurt had not moved a muscle; Blaine's face was still tucked against his chest. But deepest disgust had replaced the tragic beauty on his face. The lines of his face had gone dark, practically quivering in a fierce snarl. Lydia's lips parted in shock.

Blaine tried to pull back, but Kurt's insistent hand kept him in place. Blaine struggled a little, but Kurt refused to give him any space, and she realized then that Kurt wouldn't let Blaine look until she was gone. Because Kurt thought he needed to protect Blaine from his own mother. Her mouth formed a thin line, and she shook her head at him.

Kurt Hummel was so beautiful on the outside. She could see why Blaine had picked him. But he was in for a bad time of it with a boyfriend that misguided. Manipulative, even, judging by the way he had Blaine following him around like a puppy and making sad eyes at him all the time. She knew a thing or two about manipulative relationships, having been in a marriage like that for twenty years.

Lydia turned on her heel and walked away.


	6. Shelter

**Six**  
>"<strong>Shelter"<strong>

"Kurt. What are you doing?"

Kurt released his arms and allowed Blaine to backup a few steps. His boyfriend eyed him curiously, and Kurt smoothed his hands over his shirt and adjusted his bowtie to buy time while he tried to collect himself.

"Sorry. I just wanted to hold you a little longer."

Blaine closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Kurt's. The sweetness of the kiss made Kurt feel guilty about lying, but he shoved his own feelings aside. Honesty, in this situation, would only hurt Blaine more.

"I'm fine, Kurt. I mean … I will be."

"That doesn't mean I want to hold you any less."

A crash against the window interrupted their tender moment. Kurt started violently and turned his head just in time to see one of the large, shiny balls used as lawn decoration fly up into the air and out of sight. Listening to their surroundings again, the boys could hear the wind howling around the clubhouse.

"Okay. Time to back away from the windows again."

Kurt allowed Blaine to pull him out of the room and back towards the lobby where they found a long queue of country clubbers filing into a stairwell marked "Staff Only." A woman in a white button down and a nametag flapped her hand at the boyfriends.

"Get in line, gentleman."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Tornado watch. A funnel cloud was spotted five miles west of here."

Kurt and Blaine exchanged worried glances. That was right around Dalton, and a lot of their friends stayed at school over the weekend or lived close by. They lined up behind an elderly couple who were discussing an awful tornado they'd lived through a couple decades ago, as if that would calm anyone down right now.

The stairwell led down into a basement the country club clearly used as storage. Although it was one cavernous room, aisles had been formed by unused furniture, shelving, carts, and cabinets. Paintings not on display leaned against the wall, and bric-a-brac from decades past dotted the tops of furniture units. It reminded Kurt, in a more normal and less chaotic fashion, of the Room of Requirement in the last _Harry Potter_.

Kurt broke away from the rest of the patrons, meandering around the plush couches covered with dust sheets. He and Blaine hurried down the artificial aisles hand-in-hand, searching for something neither knew they were looking for. Kurt felt ridiculously giddy, like he was a little boy exploring a mansion. Behind him, Blaine laughed a little wildly, and he knew he wasn't alone.

It was stupid because there was a tornado five miles away from them, and at any moment the entire building could be ripped off its foundations. But racing through the basement with no destination in mind, with Blaine's warm hand in his, made him feel so carefree.

"Here."

Blaine skipped to a halt. Kurt's forward momentum kept him going a moment too long, and the tug on his arm caused him to stumble backwards. Blaine caught him around the waist, their bodies back-to-chest, and kissed at the sensitive skin behind his ear.

"I've got you."

"Blaine," Kurt whined.

He wiggled out of his boyfriend's light grip and shot him a disapproving glare. Blaine knew what that did to him and now wasn't the time for it. Instead, he looked around the shelter his boyfriend had found for them. A mountain of overstuffed throw pillows in horrible autumn colors occupied a small square space created by two wooden cabinets, a shelving unit full of vases, and a wall. Blaine pulled the plastic off the pillows, sending up little clouds of dusts.

Kurt tested the fluff of the pillows before arranging a few of the least offensive looking ones onto the floor and against the wall in a kind of frameless couch shape. Blaine eased down onto the pillows next to him so their sides were pressed together.

"It will never cease to amaze me how you always pay attention to aesthetics, even in the middle of a natural disaster. Our apartment in New York is going to look amazing."

The countertenor sucked in a breath, and Blaine winced a little.

"I mean. Shit." Blaine's forehead fell onto his forearms resting on his bent knees. "That's something I really should have brought up another way."

Kurt's fingers made little comforting circles on Blaine's back. "I would love to move to New York with you."

"Really?"

"Hmm. I plan on going to college there. Julliard, if I can get in, but I'd be just as happy with Tisch."

"Me too. And you're a shoo-in for Julliard."

Kurt grinned so widely he felt his teeth peeking out of his smile. He didn't think it should be that easy to decide to move to another state with his boyfriend and to talk about apartments and interior decoration. But there was nothing more to say about it, because they were in complete agreement.

"Scope out some good places for us next week?"

"Absolutely. If you want to live on Broadway or Times Square."

Blaine laughed. "Don't forget to have breakfast at Tiffany's."

Kurt made a contented hum in the back of his throat and dropped his head onto Blaine's shoulder. "How did you get to be so wonderful?"

He regretted the question as soon as he asked it. In light of their two disastrous meals with Blaine's parents, it carried a much different weight than when asked teasingly in the past. He almost wanted to retract the question, but Blaine beat him to it by answering sincerely.

"Nilda."

"Is that a name?"

"My music teacher in elementary. She gave me piano and violin lessons after school. And Dalton. I changed a lot after I transferred. If you met the me from three years ago, you wouldn't recognize me."

Kurt could believe that. Being in an environment where no one was belittled or harassed for the first time in his life must have altered Blaine drastically. Not that he thought for instant his boyfriend had ever been as cruel as his parents.

"I've changed a lot just from last year," Kurt commented.

"Yeah. But, Kurt …. I was like my parents." His eyes turned down, and he added in a small voice, "I guess I still am a little."

Kurt's lips parted in surprise, because he didn't understand how Blaine could think that.

"What? No, Blaine. You're not."

"You've told me I am. I'm oblivious and an attention-whore."

After meeting the Andersons, he got where Blaine's bouts of obliviousness came from. But his weren't rampant self-involvement; they were lapses in sensitivity. Of course Blaine was eager for the spotlight too. But not because he was grossly conceited; he craved an outlet to prove his worth. In hindsight, knowing everything he did now, Kurt still didn't regret calling Blaine on his missteps, but he did wish he'd done so more tactfully.

"You're not an attention-whore. Blaine, we all have our negative qualities. Do you think my whining about 'Blaine and the Pips' was altruistic? I wanted a solo."

"Not being altruistic is diff – "

"I was manipulating you, Blaine." Kurt sighed. "That's what I do. I did it with Finn and with Sam and …. I knew how you react to criticism."

Thinking back on how he'd behaved, Kurt wondered how Blaine had ever come to have feelings for him at all when he'd acted so similar to his parents. A terrible fear gnawed at Kurt's stomach. He'd read about how children of abuse often end up in abusive relationships. While Kurt couldn't even fathom a world in which he did to Blaine what his parents had, he had to acknowledge that sometimes he couldn't control his emotions, particularly his envy.

"We're imperfect people, Kurt."

Blaine fiddled with a tassel on the pillow beneath him. It was a gesture Kurt recognized. It meant Blaine felt unsure about something and needed to talk, but was reluctant to begin. He waited to take on the role of comforter again.

"When I knew for sure I was gay, I did some research online about coming out. Like stories from other people about how they'd done it. I came across this one site. It talked about how support from your family is really important for healthy relationships."

"What are you saying, Blaine?" Kurt asked.

A note of panic had crept into his voice, because he had been thinking the same thing, but he didn't want to say it out loud.

"I'm never going to have that, Kurt. That much has become abundantly clear to me today. It's not just that my parents have a problem with my sexuality. My mom doesn't at all. They're just … they're …."

"Emotionally abusive."

"I wouldn't say – "

"Yes, Blaine. That's what they are. I'm sorry, Blaine, but it's true."

Blaine fiddled with the tassel some more. "Is that better or worse than those stories you hear about gay kids getting beaten and kicked out of their homes? It is more or less likely for me to be part of a healthy relationship and to love my children the way they deserve?"

"I don't know," Kurt said quietly.

He wanted to fight off the question building within him, but the longer he tried to keep it in and focus instead on the howling wind and hail beating the clubhouse overhead, the more it ate at him.

"Blaine. Can I ask you something? Why are you with me? I don't want to know every reason. I don't think that's a good idea, because then I'll always be trying to outdo myself. But can you tell me one reason? Maybe a big one. Just so I know that …."

"Will you tell me one too?" Blaine asked quietly. "For awhile, I've sort of been afraid …. Well, you don't know any other gay guys, and I – "

"Because you overcome your fears for me, either to protect me or comfort me or just to give me what I want. That's an uncommon trait, and not many people have done that for me. You've done that since the first day I met you. And I do know another gay guy. Does the name Dave Karofsky ring a bell?"

"He doesn't even count. After what he did to you? That's sick."

Kurt's brow quirked, but he refrained from saying anything about the abused seeking validation from their abusers. It wasn't the appropriate time for that, although he would bring it up later because it was something Blaine needed to work through.

"It's your turn."

"You feel so deeply for others, Kurt. You're the most nurturing person I've ever known. When you're giving of yourself, Kurt, whether you're helping me practice a flirty duet or singing for your late pet, you are radiant. You told me a couple weeks ago that I have a beautiful soul. So do you, Kurt. That's what I saw. That's what I meant when I said that you move me. I saw your beauty; beyond your perfect face and gorgeous eyes and amazing clothes. I saw your real beauty, and … and …"

Blaine didn't have the words, but that didn't matter to Kurt. It didn't matter that they were possibly moments away from utter destruction or that they were in a storm shelter full of potentially homophobic people. Because if he hadn't already been hopelessly in love with this boy, he would be now.

And suddenly, they weren't just sitting there with shining eyes. They were kissing as they never had before. There was more to the way their lips moved against each other and tongues pressed together and fingers stroked faces, something warm and wonderful and a little scary roiled deep beneath the surface.

I love you. Kurt wanted to say, but his mouth was full of Blaine's tongue and he never wanted to taste anything but the hints of coffee and cinnamon ever again. He was wrapped up in this boy and wanted to be intertwined with him forever, to forget where Kurt ended and Blaine began. The warm, wonderful, scary thing washed over him.

Kurt shuffled closer to Blaine, as close as two bodies could be, and poured his soul into the kiss. Blaine's breath hitched, and then Kurt felt the warm, wonderful, scary thing flowing back into him through the kiss.

The rest of the world disappeared. There was no tornado or storm shelter or other people. There was just _Blaine, Blaine, Blaine_.


	7. Whispers

**Seven**  
>"<strong>Whispers"<strong>

Alec exhaled deeply and let his head flop backwards on the old leather couch. He'd checked his phone about fifteen times since they'd come down to the basement, but he never had a signal, so he played games until the battery ran out. Now he was just bored and trapped in half a century of clutter with his dad and Robert, Bud, and Bobby or whatever their names were. They were his dad's golfing buddies and the most boring bunch of old farts Alec had ever met.

He needed to find someone his own age, because this conversation about colonoscopies was deeply disturbing on many levels. He'd said good-bye to most of his friends before his dad dragged him onto the golf course, though, and no one had stayed once the storm picked up.

Except Blaine.

Alec debated whether spending time with his brother was better or worse than listening to Bobby talk about how getting a scope shoved up his ass hurt a little, but it wasn't so bad. The irony almost sent Alec into hysterics. He wished he had cell reception so he could post that one to his Facebook. His friends would love it.

_**Alec Anderson**__ is listening to old guys talk about anal probing and wondering why __**Blaine Anderson**__ isn't part of the conversation._

It would be epic. Yeah, he was definitely going to have to post that once the storm abated.

"What's so funny?" John hissed.

"Just thought of a really awesome gay joke."

"Plan on sharing?"

Alec shook his head and stood up, leaving his dad frowning. He made his way into the aisles and past a couple of the clubhouse employees. They had walkie-talkies in hand and reminded Alec of mall cops the way they bodily blocked the stairwell like they were important people. Like anyone would want to go upstairs into the storm. Like they could really stop anyone who tried.

He meandered around for awhile, trying to get himself interested in the ugly paintings propped up on the walls or the decorative items from the 1980's. He saw his mom sketching in an armchair and fled in the other direction. The last thing he needed right now was to get bitched at for not posing correctly.

The clapping thunder reached a fever pitch sometime around seven o'clock by his watch. He couldn't believe so little time had passed since they'd sat down to that farce at lunch. Why Blaine had thought introducing his boyfriend to the family was a good idea honestly baffled Alec. Hadn't he learned anything? Every time he came to dad with a new boy toy – either as a "just friends" date to a dance or a true blue boyfriend – like a puppy with a chewed up shoe, he just got kicked harder.

Alec stopped short in front of a little furniture-created niche. His brother and the boy toy looked like they were having a great time eating each other's faces off. Alec cleared his throat, and they jumped apart quickly. The boy toy – _Kurt_ – flushed to his ears.

"What, Alec?" Blaine sounded annoyed at being interrupted.

"I'm bored."

"Sorry? What am I supposed to do about that?"

Alec shrugged. Without waiting for an invitation, he grabbed one of the leftover pillows and sat down on the concrete floor. Blaine looked pissed, but Kurt straightened his shirt and gazed at Alec with wary, polite interest.

"Talk to me? I'm sick of hanging out with dad's friends, and I'd rather stab myself in the eye with one of her pencils than hang out with mom."

"It's good to know I'm at the top of your list."

Alec ignored him. Blaine sucked at coming up with sharp insults. His fancy prep school had made him too polite. If he'd stay at a public high school and not run away like a scared little girl, he'd be able to defend himself – verbally and physically.

"So, Kurt. I feel like I haven't gotten to know you at all. I couldn't get in a word edgewise at lunch with all of dad's carefully planned out insults flying in your direction."

"What do you want to know?" Kurt asked, one eyebrow arched delicately.

Alec had to give the kid props for not rising to the bait. The Andersons didn't do so well with the staying calm in stressful situations. There was usually yelling or crying involved. Alec couldn't even sing in front of people anymore he got so jittery when the pressure was on.

"How long have you known you were gay?"

"I came out last year," Kurt answered. "I've known for a lot longer, but I wasn't ready to tell anyone. My friend Mercedes helped me. Although I think she also outed me to the entire glee club afterwards. She's terrible with secrets. It worked out, though."

"Worked out? I thought you left your school?"

"I did, but … I met Blaine, so …"

Alec cringed when they made eyes at each other. His girlfriends tried that with him a couple times, but he never fell for it. Apparently, Blaine and Kurt had no problem letting the other know they were completely besotted.

"So what was so terrible that you had to run away?" Alec asked. "Did some big, mean football players beat you up too?"

The snarl on Kurt's face caught Alec off guard. He started, and then laughed. "Wow. I thought the whole thing about queens having bitch faces was a my – "

Before Alec knew what was happening, he was flying backwards and sliding off the cushion. His head cracked sickeningly on the concrete floor and something solid connected with his mouth. Only when a heavy weight settled on his chest did he fully realize what was going on.

"Blaine! Stop!" Kurt cried.

Alec lashed out while Blaine was distracted. His brother's head was turned away, so he only caught him on the jaw, but the punch was hard enough to shift Blaine's weight. Alec shoved him off and lunged forward, because goddamn it he was not letting his fairy brother get a better punch in, but a pair of hands caught him on the shoulder and pushed hard. Alec landed on his back and stared up at Kurt, who loomed over him with fury on his face.

"Don't you ever touch my boyfriend again."

The threat delivered in such a girly voice should have made Alec laugh, except there was nothing funny about the venom dripping from the words. Kurt left him to get up off the ground on his own. He knelt next to Blaine and inspected the reddened skin where Alec's knuckles had connected.

Alec struggled to his feet, trying to blink away the fuzziness in his head. He put a tentative hand to the back of his head and traced the beginnings of a goose egg. The metallic taste of blood flowed over his tongue from where he'd bitten it when Blaine tackled him. His whole mouth throbbed with the pain of it.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked, pawing at the Blaine's face.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Really, Kurt. I've been punched before, remember?"

"Not by your brother."

The brothers' eyes connected over Kurt's shoulder and tension mounted in the silence. At last, the boy toy realized something was off. He glanced between them, muttering something about "boys" and went back to inspecting Blaine's skin.

"If you ever insult my boyfriend again, I'll do to you _exactly_ what you did to me. I have his number, and I swear to God, I'll call him. Have I made myself clear, Alec?"

Blaine eyes bored into Alec's with an intensity he'd rarely seen coming from his little brother. Kurt craned his neck to look at both of them again. Alec jerked his head once, bitterly, and turned away.

"What are you talking about, Blaine?" Kurt demanded.

Alec didn't stick around to hear Blaine's side of things. Flaming queen though he was, Kurt had a good four inches on him, and he was deceptively strong. He didn't want to know what would happen when he heard Blaine's cobbled together tale if he was still around.

The truth of the matter was that Altman, Jones, and Riche came to Alec after the dance and wanted to know if he'd seen Blaine around. He had, so he told them: out in front of the school waiting for Gideon's dad to pick them up.

That wasn't a crime, telling some guys where two other guys were. It's not like he knew what they were going to do. Yeah, they always gave Blaine and Gideon a hard time at school. But that was their own fault. They should have just kept their mouths shut until they left for college and had their coming out parties in some place where they'd be tolerated.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Alec flopped down on the couch next to his father and scowled. If he'd had anywhere else to go, he would not be sitting next to his dad, but he figured this was the one place his brother's catty boyfriend wouldn't come looking for him. He shook his head, but his dad just couldn't let it go. There wasn't a chance in hell Alec was going to tell his dad _Blaine_ and his _boyfriend_ had done this.

"I had a disagreement with Melanie's ex. He works here," he lied easily.

John grunted. "That's what you get for dating girls like her. She's not worth your trouble. You need to find a respectable girl."

"Yeah, well, at least I date women," Alec snapped.

His dad went quiet because, in the end, Alec always gave him what he wanted.


	8. Fortress

**Eight**  
>"<strong>Fortress"<strong>

After two hours of sitting in the basement waiting for disaster or all the clear, the National Weather Services lifted the tornado watch for Columbus. Reports trickled in that two tornadoes had touched down southwest of Westerville, but no one knew the extent of the damage yet. A tornado warning was still in effect until midnight.

The staff allowed the members to go back upstairs, but strongly advised them to remain in the clubhouse and to sleep on the couches in the basement. There was a scrum at the stairwell door, and the members trudged up the steps painfully slowly.

"Do you want to try to make it to Dalton or stay here?" Blaine asked.

"I promised my dad."

"Then we'll stay here. Do you have reception on your phone to call and let him know you're okay?"

Kurt had to step outside onto the patio to get any bars on his phone. The world smelled fresh after the brief, heavy rainfall. Sunset was only a darkening of the sky after the storm. Blaine retrieved his overnight bag and Kurt's duffel from the back of his car while Kurt called home. He rang the house, the shop, and Finn's phone before he got ahold of anyone. Apparently, Lima was soon to be under a tornado warning, and everyone had gone out to get supplies.

"When you get back home, tell dad I'm fine and that we're staying overnight in the clubhouse's basement."

"Is that some kind of slang?" Finn wanted to know. The sound of something being thrown into a grocery cart filtered through the phone. "Do you really want me to tell Burt that?"

Blaine waved at Kurt through the windows. He had managed to procure some blankets from the staff, and on top of the pile of sheets were a few pieces of fruit, bottles of water, and package of cookies. He shook his head in amusement. His boyfriend would know how to charm supplies out of cooks and maids. Blaine gestured to the basement door. Kurt nodded and held up five fingers.

"No, it's not slang. Yes, really tell him. I'll be home sometime tomorrow, okay?"

They said good-bye a full seven minutes later because Kurt had to stay on the line and list off the essential items to have in the house during a tornado, the ones he knew they already had, and then convince Finn that Oreos were not, in fact, necessary. He stopped by the restroom to brush his teeth and wash his face, which was as much of his nightly routine as he could manage with his meager supplies.

When Kurt arrived back at the little niche they'd chosen to weather the tornado watch in, he immediately noticed something different. For starters, there was a sheet draped over the door-like space between the wooden cabinets and the shelving units so that entering the niche was like going into a tent.

Once inside, he saw that another sheet had been draped over the top of the small space. The sheet-roof was just inches over Kurt's head, and filtered the naked overhead bulbs so that the light looks warm and orange. All the decorative pillows had been piled in the center of area.

"Blaine, what is this?"

Blaine flushed pale pink. "Well, it's … it's kind of cheesy and maybe a little dumb, but … I built us, uh, a fort … out of sheets?"

Kurt was caught between rolling his eyes and cooing at his soppy boyfriend. He decided on the latter and pulled Blaine into his arms. They kissed sweetly. When they parted, Blaine ran his tongue over his lips.

"Spearmint?"

"I already went through an abysmal nighttime routine."

"Do you mind if I go?"

Kurt shook his head. While Blaine was gone he changed into the clothes he'd worn to dance rehearsal, which would have to make do for pajamas. Thankfully, since they didn't have songs and couldn't actually dance much, he hadn't sweated in the clothes at all. He felt horribly underdressed in the yoga pants and white t-shirt until Blaine returned in Dalton sweats. He kind of loved that he could dress like this and feel comfortable around Blaine, because when they lived together in New York, the illusion that Kurt always looked his best would be completely shattered.

Kurt gestured to the food. "You really should have gotten some ice for your cheek. It's swelling."

Blaine touched the puffy, red skin tenderly with two fingers. He winced a little, but shrugged. "I'll be fine, Kurt. I've honestly had worse."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Kurt nodded. He wouldn't bring it up again. He was sure that one day Blaine would tell him about all the injuries, if there were any surgeries or physical therapy, how scared he was when it was happening. Just like, one day, Kurt would be completely honest about the true horror of Karofsky kissing him, not just the base fact that he'd done it. But tonight, he let it go.

"I know it's early for bed, but there's nothing else to do really while we wait," Blaine apologized.

Kurt knelt down on the pillow bed and motioned for Blaine to join him. They lay on their backs staring up at the lights through the sheet for a few minutes.

"We could sing to each other," Kurt suggested.

"We don't have instruments."

Kurt cocked an eyebrow, and Blaine chuckled because, of course, they could sing a capella. Blaine rolled onto his side and scooted close to Kurt. He had, apparently, decided to go first. Kurt fully expected to hear "Teenage Dream," but Blaine surprised him by picking a song, not about puppy love, but about soulmates.

"Whenever I'm alone with you," Blaine crooned softly, directly into Kurt's ear.

The mixture of Blaine's hot breath against his ear, the soulful serenade, and the heartfelt meaning in the song sent Kurt to a happy place that existed outside of their present surroundings. He could imagine, just at this moment, their sheet fort existed in a world populated by only two people: Kurt and Blaine.

Kurt rolled onto his side and pressed his lips to Blaine's, thus ending the serenade early. Blaine didn't complain. He kissed back eagerly, his hand quickly roving to pet at Kurt's sides through the thin fabric of his shirt and then up to Kurt's jaw while their tongues slid together. Kurt found himself on his back again, Blaine's torso draped over his. His boyfriend's hand dropped from his jaw to play with the hemline of his t-shirt.

"Kurt, can I …"

The countertenor hesitated, worried his already swollen bottom lip between his teeth, and then nodded. Blaine's shaky fingers pushed the material up just an inch and caressed the pale exposed skin. A deep flush appeared on his cheeks, and Kurt stroked his stubbly jaw tenderly to encourage him.

"Umm …"

Blaine could lift up the material no more with Kurt on his back, and the pale boy trembled slightly in fear of what came next. He sat up and raised his arms. Blaine tugged the material free to reveal the smooth, pale expanse of Kurt's chest and stomach. Kurt laid back down at once, his arms crossed over his bare chest.

Gently, Blaine pulled his arms free, and Kurt let them flop to his sides, not sure what else to do with them. Blaine sucked in a deep breath, and his fingers traced lightly over Kurt's chest. He leaned down and pressed two open-mouthed kisses to Kurt's breastbone, and then lost his nerve and returned to safer territory, the pale column of Kurt's neck, but his hands stayed on the bare, flushed skin of Kurt's sides.

"Blaine. Could you …?"

Blaine removed his lips from Kurt's neck and sat up enough to rid himself of his Dalton t-shirt. Kurt felt his whole world stop for an instant. A thick, dark trail of hair descended from Blaine's bellybutton, and there was a lighter dusting over his chest. Kurt hadn't expected that, didn't know how he felt about chest hair.

"K-Kurt?"

Kurt's eyes connected with Blaine's. He saw in his boyfriend's hazel eyes doubt mixed with a little fear. And Kurt realized it didn't matter what he thought about chest hair or whatever other unexpected things he would one day discover under Blaine's clothes, because this was _Blaine_. Kurt reached out with unsteady fingers to pet at the hair on Blaine's chest. He couldn't bring himself to touch lower yet, so instead he pushed at Blaine's shoulder and leaned down to tell his boyfriend through the kiss how much he liked what he saw.

The way their bare skin touched felt alien and electrifying and frightening all the once. Kurt leaned forward more, putting his weight on his hands on either side of Blaine's head and lowering his chest onto Blaine's. He felt his boyfriend go absolutely still beneath him, and he pulled back, concerned and a little hurt Blaine didn't want that. But Blaine didn't move even when their torsos had separated, and then Kurt realized why that was. His movement had pushed him up against Blaine, and their lower halves, always so carefully angled away in the past, touched now. His _problem_ pressed into Blaine's hip.

He flushed deep crimson and rolled away to glare at the sheet ceiling with tears of shame collecting in his eyes. Beside him, Blaine huffed twice, and then rolled towards Kurt. Kurt sucked in a startled breath. Blaine's identical issue touched his thigh briefly, and then he shuffled away. His head snapped in his boyfriend's direction. Blaine's eyes were averted, and he stared fixedly into the middle distance.

"Oh …"

"Yeah," Blaine mumbled. "For a couple weeks now."

"Yeah, me too."

They stayed like that for a few minutes, looking in each other's general direction but not making contact and saying nothing at all. Kurt didn't know what to say in this situation. Emily Post never wrote an essay on this topic.

"So," he started, and then stopped. "But. I thought you weren't embarrassed by this stuff?"

Blaine made a choking sound. "Talking about it with a friend is a lot different than experiencing it with my boyfriend."

"Oh. Right. So what do we do about it?" Blaine's eyes bugged out, and Kurt rushed to explain himself. "I mean, not _do_ about it. Just … Oh, God. No! Not, like, _Oh, God_."

Kurt felt near tears again. He was talking himself into a deeper and deeper hole. Luckily for him, Blaine had a good deal more courage when it came to these topics. His boyfriend had collected himself enough to form a coherent suggestion.

"I think that we do whatever we're comfortable with and not let this get in the way. I'm happy with where we are, Kurt, and our pace. If you are too, then I don't think this has to change anything. It's new territory for us, but so was kissing and making out and taking our shirts off. We can stop now, Kurt, if you're uncomfortable. But if you're willing, I'd really like to keep kissing you."

Kurt nodded, and Blaine cupped his jaw as he pressed their lips together. It was different, kissing Blaine with the full lengths of their bodies pressed together and small patches of skin touching. The feel of Blaine against his thigh startled Kurt every time they shifted even infinitesimally, and he felt the same awkward movements from his boyfriend when he rubbed against Blaine's hip.

It was different, but not unpleasantly so. It overwhelmed Kurt that every step they took together, especially ones like these that scared him the most, felt so natural. They had made it through perhaps the most awkward conversation Kurt could imagine without hysterics or raised voices, and Kurt rarely made it through far less important talks without one or the other.

It was a testament to how right Blaine was for him, to how much he loved Blaine. Now he just needed to find the right moment to say it. Sometime when they weren't crying over Blaine's homophobic father or getting into fistfights with his brother or avoiding the attention of conservative country clubbers or having their most heated make out session to date.

After Nationals, Kurt decided. He would say it after he got back from New York. In the Lima Bean, over coffee, since that was their thing. Yes, after Nationals. That would give him enough time to build up his nerve.


	9. Weathervane

**Nine**  
>"<strong>Weathervane"<strong>

The morning couldn't come soon enough for Blaine. Kurt had fallen asleep sometime around one in the morning. They had talked and sang to each other long after they'd had to stop kissing and cool off. After the tornado warning expired at midnight and they had the all clear, they'd considered leaving for Dalton, but it felt pointless after getting so settled in the basement.

But Blaine had not been able to follow Kurt into slumber. No matter how long he kept his eyes shut or sheep he counted or soothing vistas he conjured up, all the normal methods to relax himself were interrupted by memories. Now that he understood the depth of his father's hatred for him, every remembered conversation – every avoided conversation – held sinister undertones.

He had given up after awhile and just stared up at the sheet ceiling, clutching Kurt to his side and trying to find solace in his boyfriend's warm body and breath on his neck. He loved Kurt, and he had a place with the Hummels. But they weren't his family. His family was in the same room and a million miles away from him. Years of angry words and cold shoulders separated them.

Blaine felt like an orphan. But instead of hoping his parents had been good people who gave him up for his own good, he knew that his parents were not so good people who just didn't like him very much. As brave a face as he put on and as much as he tried to distract himself yesterday, Blaine was broken inside, and he didn't know how to hold the pieces together. He was like water leaking through cupped hands. Any moment now, he would disappear.

"Mmhmm," Kurt mumbled into Blaine's chest.

"Good morning to you too."

The countertenor sat up and rubbed furiously at his face. He raised his arms over his head and twisted sore back muscles. Blaine agreed that sleeping on a bed of pillows under a sheet fort was romantic, especially given their history with a certain pop song, but the lumpiness of it was murder on the back.

Blaine clucked at Kurt's appearance. His chestnut hair stuck up at all angles from sleep and Blaine's hands running through it. His skin looked so clear and luminous in the morning that Blaine wondered why he even bothered with lotions, and his eyes shined a bright, translucent almost teal color.

Blaine's fingers running along the bare skin of his back seemed to remind Kurt their shirts still lay discarded off the pillow bed. He started and crossed his arms over his chest. Blaine sat up behind his boyfriend and wrapped his arms around his chest. He kissed at his shoulder blades, which he'd discovered last night, Kurt really enjoyed. A shiver ran through the taller boy's body.

"Can't right now," Kurt gasped.

"Why not?"

"So many reasons. Morning breath, room full of homophones, the urgent need to use the restroom."

Blaine chuckled and released Kurt, who dove for the shirts and pulled one on before realizing it was Blaine's Dalton shirt. The dark-haired boy lay back on his elbows and grinned while Kurt deliberated. He could take it off and give Blaine a show or blatantly steal the shirt.

"Just for that smug smile, I'm taking your shirt," Kurt decided.

Blaine got to his feet and helped Kurt up next. He tugged on Kurt's t-shirt while Kurt busied himself pulling down the sheet fort and neatly folding the blankets. They dropped the linens off at the cart waiting at the top of the stairs.

"I'm assuming you'll die without a proper shower?" Kurt narrowed his eyes, but nodded once. "Locker room is this way."

In the bright light of day, nothing looked too different about the country club grounds except some debris littering the golf course and haphazardly placed deck furniture. The forget-me-not-blue sky belied the fact that a tornado had devastated a Columbus suburb last night.

"You're very … awake," Kurt observed.

"Mmm."

"Did you sleep at all?"

Kurt knew him too well to be fooled by any false answer. Normally, Blaine was like a particularly uncoordinated zombie in the mornings. It sometimes took him a full minute to realize someone had spoken to him.

"Uh, no, not really."

"You should have woken me up."

Blaine shrugged. "I thought you liked _Twilight_?"

"If you ever insult me like that again, I'll slap you. And your attempt at changing the topic didn't work. Do you want to talk about … everything?"

"I – No, I can't. Not yet. I'm still trying to work it all out in my head what I'm feeling."

Kurt took his hand and pulled him to the side of the hallway. They were just within sight of the signs pointing to the men's locker room, and a steady stream of members made their way into the waiting showers.

"Trying to analyze your feelings before you talk about them has never really worked out well for you, Blaine. You can say anything to me. You don't have to have the perfect words. I'll l – be here for you no matter what."

Blaine circled his thumb over the skin on the back of Kurt's hand because he couldn't do much else in this busy hallway. He nodded slightly, apologetically at his boyfriend.

"I know, Kurt. It's just too raw right now. It's not that I don't want to talk to you, because I do and I will. I just don't have the words. I'm feeling in music, if that makes any sense at all. It's like all these things I'm thinking and feeling are all mixed together in this song I can't quite decipher yet."

"What kind of song?" Kurt asked quietly.

"A dirge."

Kurt squeezed his hand, and Blaine squeezed back. Somehow, that gesture reassured him more than a thousand words ever could have.

They went into the locker room and joined the fifteen or so men cleaning up. Some of them made plans to get back out on the golf course and enjoy the nice day. Others had plans to head home and make sure their houses and businesses hadn't been in the path of the storm. Kurt and Blaine overheard it all without meaning to as they went through their morning routines.

It was more than a little uncomfortable showering in the stall next to your boyfriend, Blaine reflected. They had communal showers at Dalton, but with better privacy measure than a locker room. Anyway, after they'd started dating, Kurt and Blaine had never gone to shower at the same time because it was all a little awkward after that.

If the showering was problematic, the getting dressed was ten times worse. There was a moment after the towel came off and underwear went on that Blaine wanted so, so badly to accidentally-on-purpose glance over his shoulder at Kurt, but he lost his nerve and kept his eyes trained on his own clothes.

"I can't believe I'm wearing the same clothes two days in a row. This is disgusting," Kurt complained. "We should have just waited to shower until we got to my house."

"It's not that bad, Kurt."

"Says the man who has a change of clothes," he snapped.

Blaine shrugged. "Not my fault I was going to stay at your house last night. Now, are we going to brush our teeth so we can have a good morning kiss or not?"

They brushed their teeth and did their hair over the sinks. Kurt took so long fussing with his wet hair that Blaine was able to do his hair and shave before his boyfriend was done. He went tenderly over the puffy, swollen skin where Alec's fist had connected with his face, but he truly had endured much, much worse.

"That's why you should just use gel." Kurt rolled his eyes. "No, seriously, did you see how quickly I was done? It's like a palm full of gel, comb, and done. It's beautiful."

Kurt rolled his eyes again and bumped Blaine's shoulder. "I wish I had a hairdryer. I just can't do anything with my hair when it's wet."

A snort of laughter intruded on the conversation, and Blaine's eyes darted up to the mirror. He saw a reflection of two twenty-something guys prancing around and flapping their wrists at each other. His jaw tightened, and his teeth ground together. Kurt's hands stilled on his hair for a moment, and then he sucked in a breath and cast his fiercest look into the mirror without letting his eyes lock directly onto their audience.

"Hairspray. Blaine! Give me my hairspray."

The shorter boy tore his eyes away from the taunting scene and fished Kurt's hairspray out of his bag. His boyfriend closed his eyes and sprayed copious amounts over his hair. Blaine didn't miss the way Kurt directed the aerosol stream at the other guys.

"How do I look?" Kurt demanded. He jutted his hip out and struck a pose. "I look fabulous, don't I?"

"Kurt, what are you doing?" Blaine hissed. "You and locker rooms don't have a great history. Let's just go."

"No. I'm not done yet."

"Kurt, you're going to take another shower as soon as we get to your house. Why does it matter if you're not done?"

"Because I have every right to be here and to act however I want. I'm effeminate, Blaine, that's who I am. I'm comfortable with it, and I like that about myself. I'm not hiding who I am."

Blaine couldn't keep the flash of pain out of his eyes. He felt all his seams splitting open, and like water through fingers, he was gushing out and dissipating into nothing. Kurt had a hand over his mouth and wide eyes. Blaine shook his head. This wasn't the time. They couldn't do this here with the Neanderthals moving on to mimicking blowjobs. He grabbed his bag off the sink and Kurt's hand and pulled is boyfriend out of the locker room.

"Blaine. Blaine, I'm so – "

"Is that what you really think of me?" Blaine asked, rounding on his boyfriend. "Do you really think that I hide who I am? Because I don't think I try and act butch, and I'm sorry if you think I should care about moisturizing and have sleepovers with the girls, but that's not who I am either."

"No, I – "

"Or do you think I'm hiding at Dalton? Because my bullies haven't apologized and started an anti-bullying group like yours have. They're still waiting for me at my old school and wouldn't hesitate to beat the crap out of me again."

"I wasn't implying – "

"If you think so little of me, maybe you should just leave me like everyone else in my life! If you really hate me that much, you can keep in touch and rub it in my face how much better your life is without me in it."

"Blaine!"

The tortured note in Kurt's voice brought him up short. He turned away and ran a hand over his face. He was falling apart and shattering into a thousand pieces and nothing could hold him together. He wasn't aware he was trembling, until Kurt's arms caught him as his knees buckled, and he was guided into a window seat.

Kurt's hand rubbed at his back while Blaine watched his hands shaking uncontrollably in his lap. It was all too much. There were no words or music or feelings anymore, just a buzzing in his head and ringing in his ears. He didn't know how long they sat there without speaking, but the angle of sunlight shifted into their eyes and roused Blaine from nothingness.

"Kurt," he started in a whisper.

"Ssh." Kurt kissed his hair. "You don't have to say anything."

"But I – "

"Ssh. I know, I know. Come on, let's go home, and I'll take care of you."

"Home? But we're seeing Riverdance in Lima tonight."

"That's what I meant. Home. I already texted ahead. Finn said Carole's started making your favorite lunch, and my dad has _Music Man_ waiting in the DVD player."

"It's not my home," Blaine mumbled.

Kurt kissed his hair again. "Of course it is."

Blaine accepted a long drink from a bottle of water Kurt pulled out of his bag. He handed over his car keys when Kurt demanded them, and he let himself be led through the clubhouse and out the front doors. He felt steadier on his feet and more clearheaded when he sucked in a lungful of crisp, dewy morning air.

"Kurt, please let me say that I'm sorry, and I didn't mean any of those awful things I said back there."

Kurt patted his arm softly. "I completely forgive you for your love affair with hair gel."

"Kurt."

"Seriously, Blaine, that was long overdue. I've been waiting for almost twenty-four hours. We don't make epileptics apologize for their seizures or mothers for screaming during childbirth. There are some things we can't help but doing, and breaking down after realizing you're a victim of child abuse is one of those things."

"You don't hate me?"

"Never."

Kurt took control again and guided them through the nearly empty parking lot. He stopped short three spaces away from the car, and Blaine peered up curiously. His heart stuttered in his chest. Someone was leaning against the hood of the Mustang, arms crossed, clearly waiting.

His dad.


	10. Stormfront

**Ten**  
>"<strong>Stormfront"<strong>

John pushed himself off of the Mustang's hood and turned to face his youngest son with arms crossed over his chest. He could see in the missed step that Blaine had been intending to leave without so much as a goodbye to his family. He scowled deeply at the meaningful rudeness. Whatever problems they had with each other, common courtesy wasn't too much to ask for.

Blaine insisted on holding his friend's hand, which sent a flush of anger to John's cheeks. He didn't know what Blaine was thinking, showing that kind of unnatural affection here at the country club of all places. Maybe in his school that was okay, but people would talk here. Not only was he damaging his own reputation, but John's as well.

And just bringing that boy to the country club …. Coming here had been Lydia's _brilliant_ idea, and John agreed because he expected Blaine to bring a boy like himself – gay, sure, but masculine. As it turned out, though, his son had a queen on his arm. It sent a shudder up John's spine how flamboyant his son's little friend was.

Maybe that meant there was hope for Blaine, after all. It wasn't a giant leap from Kurt Hummel to a girl. There were bound to be some butch, athletic girls at Crawford Blaine could date. Not that John really wanted that for his son either, but at this point, he'd take what he could get. Any girl was better than that boy.

But still, the disrespect of bringing that boy and showing affection in public was unbelievable.

"I can't do this right now."

Blaine muttered it to his friend, who tightened his grip around Blaine's hand. John quirked an eyebrow. So something had happened to upset Blaine. Good, then John was in a position to finally get through to him.

"Thank you for lunch, Mr. Anderson. I'm sure I'll see you again sometime," Kurt said.

He was all mock politeness and bitchy glares. John really hated this kid. Beyond the fact that he was gay and corrupting Blaine, he was a defiant, disrespectful little twit and someone needed to stamp it out of him sooner rather than later, and if that didn't work, he was due for an almighty beating to set him right. Not that a beating had done much good for Blaine, aside from toughening him up a little. Those scars he had would impress a girl someday, if he didn't blurt out that he'd gotten them during his gay phase.

"We're expected back in Lima soon."

Kurt fished a set of car keys out of his pocket and unlocked the passenger side door for Blaine. John gave a mirthless laugh and rubbed at his eyes with one hand.

"Jesus Christ, Blaine. You're kidding me. I'm not happy that you're gay, but I at least thought you'd be the masculine one. _This_ boy is opening car doors for you? Lord Almighty, I don't even know what that says about you."

"Just get in the car," Kurt whispered to Blaine.

John glanced up shrewdly. Either Blaine was the bitch who would do as his master dictated or he'd prove to his father he wasn't as much of a lady as he thought. If it was the former, so help him God, John was going to _make_ his son see how disgusting that was. John tolerated a lot from Blaine – this gay thing, the musicals, the fashion magazines – but he was not going to let that slide.

Blaine practically quivered in anger. Splotches had appeared on his cheeks, and his jaw set so tightly his teeth must have been grinding together. His hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles had gone white. John waited for the inevitable outburst, and he wasn't disappointed. Blaine stepped back from the car and slammed the door. Kurt tried to stop him, clutched at his shirt sleeve, but it was all in vain. Blaine strode around to the hood and came face-to-face with John.

John kind of hated that Blaine had an inch or two on him because he had to look up ever so slightly.

"Kurt is a man, and a better one than you or I will ever be. I've had enough of you insinuating otherwise. It only shows how ignorant you are that you judge based on looks alone. Even the country club set knows there's more to a person than their appearance."

John chaffed at the veiled insult to his status here. So what if he didn't have as much money as some of these people or quite as prestigious a job? He deserved to be here, and for Blaine to hint otherwise was absurd. These people liked him. He was popular here. His voice shook with just a touch of anger.

"How many more times are we going to have to do this, Blaine? You flaunt your sexuality at an inappropriate place and time, and then you turn it around on me like I've done something wrong. It's getting old."

"I'm out and proud, dad. That means I don't hide who I am for any reason, and being gay is part of who I am. If you'd try to understand that, that my sexuality is only one part of me, we wouldn't have to do this ever again."

That wasn't true, and they both knew it. They would be doing this forever, because that's what they did. They had done this ever since that day when Blaine was fourteen and decided he would try being gay to get his parents' attention. As if he and Lydia didn't already devote enough time to their sons. As if Blaine was so special he deserved even more than his parents could give him.

"What you are is a disrespectful son. You know how I feel about gays, and you still insist on being one. That's unacceptable."

"This isn't about who or what I am," Blaine said. "What it's about is you being a petulant child who throws temper tantrums because I won't be exactly who you want me to be! I'm done with it, dad. I'm not playing this game with you anymore."

Heat infused John's cheeks. He felt like the world quaked beneath his feet. Blaine never spoke to him like this or came back with such stinging retorts. He didn't need to look far to know where it came from. Kurt gazed at the back of Blaine's head with such compelling pride John had to wonder what he saw in Blaine that John didn't. But it lasted only a second, because blind anger replaced curiosity. That damned boy had turned his son against him.

"This," John said, motioning between Blaine and Kurt, "is over. He's a bad influence."

Blaine laughed humorously. "Wow. That's what you come back with? I finally stand up for myself, and you want me to give up the person who helped me find my backbone? Kind of obvious, isn't it?"

"This is your only warning, Blaine. You end this thing you have going on or there will be consequences."

"Like what? I only see you for an hour a week. You can't confine me to my dorm room or ground me from hanging out in the common rooms."

John searched for an adequate answer. Blaine was right. He'd had almost no say over how his son lived his life since he transferred to Dalton and started living in the dorms. It had only gotten worse when he'd joined the Warblers and, apparently, made a few friends. A slow, dark smile twitched the corner of John's mouth.

"Dalton tuition doesn't pay itself. We could see each other a lot your senior year. Unless you want to move to Boston and live with your mom."

Either way, John had him. Without Dalton, Blaine would live under his roof and follow his rules or live in Boston so far away from Kurt they wouldn't last. Whichever way it played out, John didn't care. He'd won, even if Blaine wasn't "playing this game" anymore.

Blaine went silent for a long time. No doubt his admittedly intelligent son was working through the possibilities and coming to the same conclusion. His eyes bored into John's, and he waited for the shutters to fall over those strangely expressive eyes like they always did right before Blaine backed down. But it didn't happen. Blaine's face set sternly, and his eyes radiated cold hatred.

"You are a horrible person."

John started at the insult. He didn't understand what was happening right now. Blaine didn't do this. He shut down, he backed off, he ran away. It was how they worked. Except it wasn't happening right now. John licked is lips and grasped for a retort.

"Funny, that statement coming from a queer. There's pretty much nothing good about any of you people."

Blaine didn't even flinch. Nor did Kurt. They simply stared at him with those cold eyes.

"There's isn't a damned thing wrong with me. And no one worth my time thinks there is."

And with that, Blaine turned away and climbed into the car. Kurt walked around the hood, passing a pitying look at John on the way, and took the wheel. The engine rumbled as they pulled out of the lot in the car rebuilt to remind Blaine of a man's natural role in the world.

John stared as the taillights disappeared around a curve. He played his son's final statement over in his mind. He decided that whoever told Blaine there was nothing wrong with him clearly didn't know the kid very well.


	11. Flight

**Eleven**  
>"<strong>Flight"<strong>

Just before reaching the highway, Kurt pulled the Mustang over to the side of the road. Blaine turned in his seat to see his boyfriend gripping the steering wheel with shaking hands. His skin was deathly pale, but blotches of red painted his cheeks.

"Do you need me to drive?"

Kurt's neck snapped in his direction. "Do _I_ need …? Blaine." A note of hysteria crept into Kurt's voice. "Your family is unbelievably cruel, and you're still asking what _I_ need?

"Right now, I just want to get back to your house."

Blaine climbed out of the car and rounded the hood. Kurt had slid over into the passenger seat by the time he got to the driver's side door. He stroked Blaine's cheek as soon as he was settled behind the wheel, and the shorter boy smiled sadly at him.

"I'm not upset, Kurt. But I know you are. You don't have to touch me."

"How can you not be upset?"

"I just can't think about it right now. I'm thinking about one thing at a time, and right now, that's getting to your house."

"I don't care about going home."

"Well, I do! I feel like everything will be all right if I can just get to your house. Is that selfish enough for you?"

"That's hardly selfish at all. But it'll have to do."

Blaine eased the Mustang back onto the road, and two hours later, pulled into the Hummel's driveway. Before he'd even gotten the car into park, Burt came storming out of the house. Kurt's dad was already dressed for their evening at the Lima Community Center in a pair of pressed khakis, a blue button down, and no baseball cap. Blaine found himself pulled into a hug the moment he stepped out of the car.

"You're all right, kid."

"Dad … there's more. After I texted, something else happened."

Burt saw the bruise from Alec's fist on Blaine's cheeks and his face darkened. Before he could work himself into a frenzy and hurt his heart, Blaine hurriedly explained about the fight in the parking lot. Kurt watched him closely for any sign of hysteria waiting to creep back in.

But Blaine didn't feel volatile or manic anymore. He felt calm, like the turmoil inside had dampened down at long last. Would something unexpected set him off in the future? Possibly. Probably. He wasn't going to kid himself that everything was okay now. But he'd walked away from a fight with his father for the first time ever. Now that he'd found the strength to do it once, he thought he could do it a hundred times.

Not that he planned on having a hundred fights with his dad. He fully expected he would not see his family in the foreseeable future. Summer approached rapidly, so he couldn't stay at Dalton, and if his dad followed through on the threat to not pay tuition next year, maybe he'd never be going back. But Nick lived in a house with too many rooms and not enough parental supervision; Wes's mom had long ago started calling the guest room 'Blaine's room'; there was the possibility of performing at Six Flags in Chicago all summer; and he had a home with the Hummels.

No, Blaine would not be going back to his parents' houses for quite some time.

"Sounds like I'd better never meet your dad or I'd be going to jail," Burt commented. "But what are you thinking, kid?"

Burt put his hand on Blaine's shoulder and squeezed. The gesture comforted Blaine in ways he couldn't articulate. It was their thing, he realized. They had a thing. He could smile just a little and jerked his head towards the deck.

"Can we sit?"

Burt and Blaine settled onto the edge of the deck with their legs hanging over the side. Kurt hovered for a moment, unsure if he should stay or go, until Blaine beckoned him over. He sat on the other side of Blaine and wrapped both hands around one of Blaine's.

"Talk to me, Blaine," Burt directed, concern lacing his voice. "I don't like seeing you this calm after what you just told me. There's something you're thinking that you haven't said yet."

Blaine swallowed thickly. "Do you know of anyone who would be interested in buying a rebuilt vintage Mustang? I think I'd like to drive … a Camry."

He saw the worried look pass between Burt and Kurt. They thought he'd cracked. Their worry for him made him grin, which only called his mental health into question even more, which in turn made him laugh a little, and the vicious cycle continued until he got himself under control.

"I'm not going back to live with my parents anymore," he announced. "I know I'm not eighteen yet, and technically, they could probably force me, but something tells me they don't care enough to go to that trouble."

"That sounds like a good idea," Burt stated, his brow still creased. "Are you asking if you can live here?"

"No. No, I can't impose – "

"Because I would say yes. All you have to do is ask."

Blaine mouthed wordlessly at his boyfriend's father. Kurt's hand seized around his so tightly it hurt a little. He knew Kurt wanted him to ask, but he wouldn't yet. They'd been friends and lived across the hall from each other, but they were boyfriends now and it was too soon. He had Nick, Wes, Jeff, and David, and he suspected most of the other Warblers too.

"Thank you, sir. I actually … I brought it up because I want to explain."

"I think it's obvious," Kurt chimed in. "You don't have to explain anything."

"But I do. Because I told you to do things, Kurt, that I've never done. I told you to stand up to Karofsky and to educate him. And now here I am, again, running away."

Blaine sighed and ducked his head.

"I have to explain because I don't want you to think I'm a coward and a hypocrite and a bad son. I want you to be able to respect me as a man. And how can you do that if all you ever see is me running away?"

Kurt's jaw worked, but no sound came out. He turned his shining blue-green eyes onto his father, silently begging him to have some words of wisdom. Burt sighed and ran a hand over his bald head.

"You ever think about the difference between 'running away' and 'walking away'?" Burt asked. "When you run away, you're scared, you just want to put distance between yourself and the people or things that are hurting you. It's instinct, it's adrenaline. But when you walk away, you're calm, you've thought about it and you're separating yourself from something toxic. It's deliberate, it's logical. And it's a hell of a lot harder than most people think it is.

"Abuse of any kind is like an addiction. After awhile, you don't know how to live without it. A world full of love and kindness doesn't make sense to you anymore. So walking away, you don't think it's an option because you don't know what else is out there. I hope I don't sound conceited when I say that maybe my family showed you there is something better and that you deserve it.

"So, no, Blaine, I don't think it makes you a coward or a bad son that you're walking away. I think that, finally, you're taking your own advice. You're standing up to your bully in the only way he'll understand. I think that makes you brave."

Blaine had always known moments of clarity existed. He had experienced two himself: one during Kurt's rendition of "Blackbird" and one just yesterday by the duck pond. He had realized truths about other people that changed the way he felt about them. But he had never understood himself so well as he did in that moment. Everything that he hated about himself, everything he did that baffled him, it suddenly all coalesced into a stunningly clear portrait of a man.

For the first time, he saw himself objectively. Not in relation to other people, not as a son or boyfriend or brother or student. But as _Blaine_. Some things he saw, he didn't like; some he thought he could change with work; but mostly, he loved what he saw, and finally, he understood how others could love him too.

He felt Burt's arm around his shoulder and heard Kurt's weepy sniffs before he realized he was crying. But his tears weren't full of sorrow or grief. Laughter punctuated his gasps and bittersweet happiness swelled in his heart.

"Thank you," he murmured over and over.

The Andersons would never be the Hummels. They would always be consumed by anger and resentment, just as they always had been. But Blaine could step out of the cycle, could be better than his upbringing. He had the support and courage to do it.

Blaine Anderson had learned how to save himself.

**FIN**

* * *

><p>Thank you for reading <em>Catch the Wind<em>. Your reviews and messages have blown me away. I'm so touched that you've favorite, alerted, and reviewed this story. The outpouring of love I've received has amazed me.

As you may know, _Catch the Wind_ is the first sequel I've ever completed. Will there be another sequel? No. Walking away from abuse is a heroic victory. I can think of no happier ending than the one I've written.

If you feel so compelled, please leave me a review to let me know what you thought of the story.

Until next time,  
>Heather<p> 


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